Wretches and Kings
by Tickle2Kill
Summary: Two fell from the Tower that night and the world was never the same. Britain has a new sovereign and he calls himself the King on the Throne of Bodies. But beneath his feet, hidden behind dusty tomes, lies the remnants of his only true enemy: The Light. One routine theft offers the battered Order a chance to finish what began on a Halloween night 20 years ago. The beginning of end.
1. Prologue

~*~Prologue~*~

It was as though the air itself had frozen solid and he could not find a way to suck it into his lungs. Frightened, unbelieving, he stumbled to the edge of the Tower and gazed straight ahead, unable to look down. If his eyes saw what he knew was there, he would cease to live at all.

"Snape! We've done it!" Was it Amycus or Alecto that spoke to him? It was not Bellatrix who was standing stunned beside him, a fearful glimmer of success in her muddled eyes. Did she know whether this event would be a death sentence or a boon in the Dark Lord's eyes? He did not know and as he let the air of the night lift his hair and robes, he did not care.

Hogwarts was alight with activity. He could see and hear spells flying back and forth and around whoever decided to fight what he now knew was inevitable. Fire was somewhere, eating something alive. The stench of burning things clogged his nostrils and seared through his lungs. Smoke rises and he was higher than any of them. Would the whole school be destroyed? A part of him, however big, hoped so. He would never be able to rid his mind of the images this place had produced. Slowly, almost as though his lack of hurry could change anything, he let himself gaze towards the proof of the outcome of the war that had yet to fully begin.

The trees in the distance shifted with the breeze and he could nearly see Thestrals leaping about the canopy of the forest and hear the centaurs galloping about. A glint of light flashed past his peripheral and he granted it no mind. Further down, to the glistening grass of the grounds, he let his eyes wander. Did anyone know what had happened? Could they feel it even in their beds? Was the Dark Lord rejoicing already? He was tilted at the waist, his chin in his chest and he stared, curious, at the blank space where two bodies should have been. Nothing, nothing but a girl stood there, gazing upwards.

Even from this enormous distance, he met her eyes, her brown eyes, and she raised her wand to the sky. In the glow of her wandlight he saw her bloodied face and he wished to laugh else he would cry. Her hair was wild like gnarled branches about her head and her know-it-all gaze was now fierce, hateful and ever so slightly broken. He was so numb that her spell dashed past his cheek and left a crude burning cut he couldn't properly feel. The last he saw of her was the shadow cast by someone else's spell and he thought for a moment he had seen a viciousness in her stance that had never existed before.

Only a second ago it seemed, she had knocked forcefully upon his door, her eyes clear and trusting as she begged for his help. They were under attack and he knew what he was to do, but the unwavering faith in her eyes, the unconditional trust she gave him as she rushed to speak hit him now harder than it was meant to. What had he done to deserve and promptly disuse that type of unhindered, unprovoked, emotion?

A pale hand clutched his shoulder and he broke his stare to see who dared touch him. Grey eyes, lost and confused, looked to him for guidance and reassurance. Now he was to play the nursemaid for self-serving children. No, he would not.

"Do you need me to hold your hands? We are done here." He felt crass and cold, yet it seemed to make the most sense. Calmly, as though this was the turn of events he had predicted, Severus left the Tower without waiting for the others. The stairs spread out before him in a mimicry of the descent to hell. As he plateaued on the flat ground, he paused. For one small second, he had been overcome with the urge to weep that was so strong he could do little but bite his tongue to stop himself from screaming. His heart was beating wildly fast and yet he felt so lulled he could float out of the castle. There was not much to bind him now.

The sound of heavy footsteps drove him to continue. He felt as though he were running from the truth. Running away from that home in Godric's Hollow, running away from the torture of knowing the reality. He couldn't take it, yet he was still moving and the fights about him faded into some watercolor mesh of paints, no faces and no souls, just empty shapes. Somehow, no spells hit him as he weaved through the mess to the grounds. After a moment or ages, when Fenrir barked out a request to slow down, Severus came to a stop.

Screams, for the first time, invaded his ears and he knew that the school had awakened to the bodies and the horror of pure chance. Raggedly, he turned to his companions, what weak and horrid things they were, mere shadows cast by the fires in the school they flew from.

"We must report to the Dark Lord before the Aurors come for us. This world is not yet free for us to roam. Catch your breath on your own time." Roughly, he snatched Draco by the collar and fled into night, past the edge of the wards and beyond, twisting perhaps too harshly as he Apparated away. And not a single soul was there to stop him. There was a harrowing desolation in the thought.

The Dark Lord was holed up in Malfoy Manor, as he had no proper home of his own. He was powerful not pureblood and lacked what ancient blood had afforded his followers. The grounds stretched before him barren to his eyes yet he could hear the squawk of Lucius' albino peacocks roaming the topiary extravagance, the whoosh of feathers on display broken up only by the crunch of their boots on the path. Draco did not protest to being led, in fact, he seemed to drift closer to Severus than the rest of those present. Perhaps he had grown up enough to realize what had occurred a handful of seconds ago.

The door opened for them and the lit rooms in the manor led them to the dining room. Seated at the table, caressing Nagini lovingly, their Lord did not peek up as they entered.

"It is done?" he questioned lightly, distracted by whatever marvels he divined in the scales loped around his neck.

Severus did not bow, did not prostrate, but stepped as near to their Lord as he could and leaned forward. Red eyes lazily met his in a sort of challenge, but Severus only maintained the gaze. Nagini hissed angrily, angling her head at his throat. For the briefest of moments, he offered it happily. The Dark Lord chuckled and muttered to his pet in his hissing language, calming the beast.

"Potter is dead." Severus whispered, holding the suddenly furious crimson gaze that settled upon him.

"Dead? And who may I congratulate?" Ice was too warm a substance to describe the hiss in the air.

"None other than dear Bella, my Lord. The one and only."

Beckoning fingers gave him warning to step back as the woman took his place. The moment their Lord stood and rammed her face into the table with the grip he had on her neck, Severus ceased to notice the world.

* * *

Blood was dripping into her eyes from a curse she didn't remember receiving and her arms shook with the effort of carrying, but even Ron had forgotten to use magic to ease their struggle. It was too much to think of such cold-hearted things now.

The fights had ceased, mostly due to the masterminds fleeing, but it was nice to have quiet as they moved. All the others, aside from Neville and what Aurors had come, were too stunned to lend a hand. Hermione would have liked to blame them, but the only way she could stave off complete hysteria was by focusing on the mundane and the manual. An empty classroom was already prepared, by McGonagall she surmised, and Ron angled himself into the open door first.

They laid their burden on the table and as she let the desk take its weight, her eyes found wide open green ones, stuck in a startled disbelief. Not until that moment had she allowed herself to comprehend the fact that it was Harry she was carrying. That it was Harry's head that was pressed into her stomach, lolling freely with every shift. His skin was already cold, like the false necklace in her pocket, and it bit into her chest to think he had left the school for nothing.

Without warning, she was suffocating.

Ginny, a mass of red and tears, knocked her aside in her sorrow, clutching at the motionless Harry, feverish in her agony.

"_No!_" she screamed, so loudly Hermione thought perhaps even Dumbledore would have rose to quiet her. Struck with a morbid desperation, she dodged past all the ocean of confused faces that pressed into the small room and burst into the hall. A thick, choking sob issued from further down the corridor and with whisper light steps she made her way nearer.

"I am dreaming..." she found herself murmuring against her will. "In a moment, I will wake."

Yet the hall was short and she was wrapping her arms about her Transfiguration Professor before she realized what she was doing. McGonagall shuddered, then collapsed to the ground. Her hair had come undone and the strength that exuded from her was buried beneath whatever it was this emotion embodied. Sorrow, agony and pain did not seem to explain it and she stood, letting Neville aid their Professor in her grief. The room she stepped into, closing the door behind her to drown out the wails, held their former Headmaster.

Hermione's legs became water as she came beside the lifeless body and in anger, she gripped his robes.

"This wasn't supposed to happen!" her voice was loud and quiet, alive and dead. "You were dying, not him! Not him!" her fist hit his chest, yet he did not gain life enough to answer her and the ground captured her as she sank to her knees. "Make this make sense!"

The door opened and Ron entered, stumbling. When he lifted her up and carted her back to Harry's side, she started to unravel. All at once she couldn't breathe, couldn't see and her heartbeat swallowed everything but the sound of Ron's voice.

"It's a nightmare, 'Mione. You just gotta remember to wake up. Right?" he was shaking and eventually he cracked, hitting a wall with his back and sliding down. She settled in his lap, wanting to believe him, but when he pinched himself and nothing happened, she began to breathe again. Fast and hungry, her lungs pulled in and shoved out oxygen until she was light-headed. They were in Harry's space now, Ginny had taken to rocking back and forth, and Hermione found her hand filled with the cold, fake horcrux two people had died for.

With fingers that did not want to bend, she opened the thing and pulled the paper from its innards. It was simple, useless and cheap. Hermione slowly unfolded it, read scribbles that her mind did not process until she saw three letters.

_R.A.B_

For the life of her she could not think of anything but _Rest Among Bodies_ and the hysterical laughter that flew from her mouth sucked up what was left of her air. Dizzy, she slipped off of the sobbing Ron and onto the stone floor. Harry's hand had fallen off the desk because of Ginny's wildness and he appeared to reach for her. Delicately, as though he would crumble, she reached back and into a wave of darkness.

* * *

**A/N**: I've had this story in my head and in my life for two, nearly three, years and I've decided that it is about time I published it. I have twenty-two mostly long chapters completed already, but seeing as the story has been in and out of my focus for so long things might not line up as they are supposed to. I find, with Firstborn Sons as example, that winging it sometimes helps me get it finished. The pressure of having people waiting for updates actually makes my mind work and I produce faster and am able to think out of the box. So I'm apologizing up front if stuff gets off-track. I swear to you, if you want to stick with me, that I will give it my all and attempt to weed out any mistakes as I go. Also, please know that your opinion matters to me. Review or PM me anything, but flames. Humbly yours, Tickle2Kill.


	2. Gone Sovereign

~*~Gone Sovereign~*~

The nights were colder, the days were shorter and the approach of winter fell upon them like the Veil in the Ministry. Four years had passed since the fall of the Light, four years of torment for those they couldn't save. It was tragic, yes, that they could not deny, but they had long since come to the conclusion that they could not save them all.

The world was now Voldemort's, as it had been since the night on the Tower; infamous now in its repeated tellings, glorified for its part in his success. The few who were there or who cared to remember would see nothing but the farce it was, the end that never happened. Harry wasn't dead.

But nor was he awake.

These four years had dragged on like the snails in children's stories, except there was no clean-cut lesson to be told, no warning to impart unless the warning was to be Pureblood at all costs. Muggles were killed or tortured, Muggleborns were dealt worse and Halfbloods were treated like the redheaded stepchild; made to serve their betters and redeemed through their service to the new King. The world was his now - and it was run by his rules. Come hell or high water, it was the Skull the weary bowed to now. And it was the Snake who gave them life.

* * *

The facade was cracked, sullied with the newest posters of their coveted King, Slytherin green with his caricature embossed in white, his eyes the same blood red of death rubies, he hovered like a frigid cloud of dominance. His name was Master now, no longer the shade of hidden dangers creeping in the backwoods or the forgotten fringes of the weaker minds. He was unavoidable and he was all, he was the very breath in their lungs...or so he believed. On a deserted back alley, far from the eyes of the King on the Throne of Bodies, stood the remnants of a rebellion given up for dead, the broken pieces of a world shattered.

Down in Knockturn Alley, where the degraded were lords in this twisted world, a woman, newly birthed in the night airs, leapt from a caved in roof top, touching down with scarcely a whisper upon the next roof. Crouching at the lip, the woman lowered herself until she held on with her fingertips to the roof tiles. She slid to the precipice - lingering for a scant second - and dropped to the balls of her feet, landing just as quietly on the broken cobblestones of an unseemly place, a discarded realm.

Taller now than she was years before, yet not near as tall as her redheaded friend, the woman slipped past a clinking cart pusher, who shouted upon high that the cure was at hand. The cure for the pain, for the depression, for the dark hole that existed in almost everyone now that the King ruled. Surely if death were the easy way out, this pusher was the gatekeeper to it.

Selling vials of quiet ruin to the lowly and the hopeless, easing their troubles in the humane way. A dose of poison on the tongue, tasteless, would end the cries that echoed like a symphony through the heavy winter air. A dose of false happiness, saccharine, would revive anew the dreams of the fallen, only to crush them once more when their high was brought low. Potion Masters across the land had peddlers on the street corners in the damned part of society, offering hope to the criminals of the deep, the drenched rats of the forgotten past.

She was no rat, she told herself, and nor would she stoop to the lesser evil, for it was an evil still. And, she reckoned, there was enough evil about her, no need to expand its property lines to within her.

Walking with her hood pulled low about her eyes and a slight limp, the woman dodged another cart pusher, gazing with doe-like chocolate eyes at the world she had once loved. _It will be again as I knew_, she felt it in her heart, _whether or not I live to see it_.

The winding alleys of this bowel of the earth led her feet, if her mind could not point, to the door of an abandoned bookshop. Its cracked facade preached the gospel of the new Messiah and in its blazing words she saw again her foe. He was unchanged, unlike the world he plundered, still as pale and just as pompous. The woman pressed her back against one of the bright green flatterers of propaganda and gave a cursory glance to the alley walls around her. The night air was filled with the sound of pusher's carts, shopkeepers jingling bells and the occasional cough, no doubt a man huddled beneath a transfigured cloak, waiting out the morning's coming.

Though, to tell the truth, she wondered sometimes if the wait for the dawn would ever erase the horrors of the night before. No amount of Dreamless Sleep had given her that. Maybe the poor bugger fared better.

She raised her hand to knock upon the faded red door of the bookshop when a large cat hissed and ran awkwardly into a trash bin, setting to motion an unholy cacophony as the owner batted the beast away.

"You mangy cur! Come by my door again, Laurence, cat or no, and I'll send you to the Ministry! I know you're an unregistered Animagus!"

The cat hissed once more and fled past the woman's toes with urgency, a leather satchel dangling from its maw like a great golden prize. She thought she saw the calico feline grin. The owner let loose a last screech of anger and gave the woman with a poised fist one glaring peek, then slammed her heavy door behind her. The shades flashed across the window and the _Open_ sign went black.

Waiting out the quiet until it reigned once more over the shady environment, the woman once again lifted her fist and knocked three times. Burying her icy cold fingers in the warmth beneath her arms, the black robe clad witch shivered in the still air, wishing she were ensconced in safety.

She almost knocked again when many minutes went by without so much as a mutter of movement behind the faded red door, but suddenly there was a _zinging_ sound and a square of the door fell away. One ruddy brown eye glanced over her figure as the oddly proportioned blue one whizzed back and forth across the empty alley.

"Put down your fist, fool!" A harried voice commanded in a whisper, the blue eye focusing for a brief second on her before resuming its wild gazing. For that moment, she almost felt he was truly seeing her.

"Let me in, I've got news." she replied, fighting to keep her teeth from chattering. She didn't dare use a warming charm this close to the King's eye. He'd be swarming this pebbled walkway with cloaked fallacies of the reformed Auror Department before the spell had even kicked in. Sure they wore the red and they had the signet, but nothing remained of the police of the past, nothing but the mockery it was today.

"News or tragedies, you know the procedure. Get on with it!" his voice reached an octave she knew well, she heard it enough to replicate it at command.

"Always rising, always bright, the phoenix never truly falls."

Huffing at her, the man with the two-colored eyes flicked the square back into place and the door shimmered. Taking one last look at the space around her, the woman rolled sideways, into the seemingly solid door and into the warmer place beyond. With a sound like scraping stones, the door reformed into a flat brick wall, and on the outer wall, into a faded red door with a broken brass knob.

* * *

The bookshop looked as abandoned as the hope of the beaten and conquered, its white walls were stained brown with the cluttered waste of discarded knowledge. At her feet, sculpting a path as hallowed as the halls of an ancient tomb, lay stacked books: some with covers, some without, some whole, some ripped to shreds. Stepping past them all, the two ragged people made their way to the back of the shop, where the unused desk remained, a sentinel of order amongst the chaos of time.

A book finally broke free of its brothers upon a leaning shelf and smashed to the ground with such an almighty fury it threw up a plume of choking dust. The man whirled with a speed unexpected and struck like a cobra. The whipping sensation of his arm as his wand flung a fiery curse at the offender was all the woman felt. Much more at ease, though she could not deny the rapid beating of her heart, the woman pressed her hand upon the man's.

"It's just a book, Moody. Let's get inside."

He sighed and for fleeting moment, his face showed his age, then he sheathed his wand up his sleeve and allowed her to lead the way. She passed him, calmly going to the back wall, which was crafted to jut out like a stone pedestal with which to read from. On the tattered, but lovingly crafted outcrop, lay a book which showed its owner's affections. Gleaming black, like the sky outside save the stars, it was as thick as her thigh and as heavy as a crate of apples. Turned with care to the middle pages, a brightly painted skull loomed over the parchment, a vivid green snake bobbing back and forth from its mouth.

Brandishing her wand and pressing the tip to the right eye of the skull, the woman took a breath.

"To the Lord, we pledge our wands." she whispered.

Quickly, so as to not reveal its true nature, as though the book itself were paranoid of the outer world, the skull-and-snake morphed into a bright red and orange phoenix, burning off the page. It peeled itself off the curling pages, then with a small sing-song squawk, it engulfed itself and the snake-and-skull flashed back onto the cooling parchment.

The wall behind it _snicked_ and shuddered, then began to descend into a hole in the floor, a dark, silent pathway revealing itself to the two.

"Come along then, Granger. I haven't got all day."

Rushing past as though he wasn't the one behind this whole time, Moody hobbled first through the door and then Granger followed. Limping more noticeably now than earlier, she held up her wand hand to the wall and stepped gingerly on her right foot.

They walked for a few minutes before the man noticed anything was amiss. Maybe it was the _shuffle-step_ sound of her footfall. Maybe he finally cared to look over at her appearance to assure she hadn't fared any worse than the others who leave and return.

"Clumsy, Granger?" he asked, his tone surprising playful and laced with reprimanding concern.

This startled her out of her thoughts, and Hermione looked at him curiously. Within the second, she'd caught on. "Oh, no. Dolohov likes cutting people. He didn't see my face, but he was the only one to follow me. A minor slicing hex is all. I'll get Samantha to fix it."

"Better be more careful from now on. He'll remember your form if nothing else." Moody advised, his walking cane visible only slightly now that he reached out a hand to help her walk.

She took it, relieved of the burden of her own weight. The blood didn't soak through her clothing and for that she was thankful. Her ankle hurt fiercely though and Ron would be joyful at her expense. At least her scars didn't yet reach his. She smiled at the superiority she felt. Their turns outside the refuge had become this little game of 'Who-Gets-Hurt-Worse' and so far, she was the safest one out of the bunch. Of course, being so careless as to make a game of the rather dangerous outings was the quickest way to temporary suspension. But what Moody didn't know wouldn't hurt them, right?

The descent was over as fast as it began and another door led into the place she longed to be. Moody walked ahead of her, leaving her to stand, wobbly, a few feet back away from the simple wood door and dug within his many pockets to retrieve a tarnished bronze key. Glancing back at her with his brown eye, Moody placed the key into the simple lock and spun it twice left and once right, then yanked it out and pressed his hand to it. The door flared red as the phoenix had and _snicked_, imitating the pedestal wall, then popped open slightly. Holding it open for her until she passed through, Moody slammed the door shut and it faded back into the wall on their side.

Hermione closed her eyes to make the sight grander in anticipation, seeing behind her lids something she had only dreamed of on her reconnaissance mission. This, for all intents and purposes, was as much home as she could hope to achieve. With her parents off in the muggle world, believing her dead, she had no home to live in out there. Hell, if she went out there, she'd surely die before a night was through...such was the way. She was presumed dead. It was better, in any case, to the truth.

Stepping down from the vanished doorway with measured steps and opening her eyes, Hermione took in the sights she hadn't seen for now on six days. She'd been busy scoping out a supply cargo of medicinal necessities being transported to the St. Mungo's of Voldemort's reign. Much changed from the one of before, it was the only legal hospital outlet within Wizarding London. The prices had gone up and the services rendered only applied to those of noble birth. If Hermione found herself broken, it would be better to take a vial from the pushers.

The safe haven before her, laid out like a small hodge-podge village, centered around the main road, _Ariana_, branching off in a winding country road-type fashion, with side streets and avenues between the slightly uniform, slightly wild and personal styles of each resident. She knew each house though and nearly every name that lived within this place. She was the forerunner of the resistance, small as it was, and she felt it was her duty to know the people she fought for.

The sky was as false as the one in Hogwarts' Great Hall, but it took much less magic. A foundation had been made when this place was created and after a period of time, they had added to it. Little by little, it became what it is today. Made to reflect a summer sun without the abhorrent heat in this enclosed space, it made this place seem like a easy-going country town. It was like home.

Leaving Moody behind as he began shouting at Kingsley Shacklebolt over a conversation she had interrupted, Hermione made her way past the first few houses of _Ariana Road_, to the true destination she longed to see. At her left was the small wand shop that they had set up; Albert Polzin, the Russian-born wandmaker, at its helm, leaning over his high counter to talk with a small boy who she knew to be named Cole.

The boy was gaining height to rival his mother in a few years; he'd scrape the roof by the time he graduated. He was Yvette's son, Yvette being a wraith-thin tree of a woman and a close friend of one Fleur Delacour. Fleur and Bill Weasley had wed a year after the events of the Tower and they lived across the street from Molly and Arthur in a two-story home with brightly colored walls and shutters.

Cole shouted so loud as sparks erupted from his wand that Hermione had to look over to make sure all was well with the boy. He giggled just as suddenly and Yvette clapped for him. A smile crept onto her face and Hermione stepped past an old woman named Mary. Crawling slowly past eighty, Mary had mismatched locks of gold, green and pink, her milky white-blue eyes peering out from under bushy white eyebrows. She was a squib, one she had found herself. Mary had three magical sons though, one of which had married Hannah Abbott just last month. They had set themselves up a few blocks over on the other main cross street _Merlin's Wand_.

"Hello, dear girl. Finally back I see." The old woman paused long enough to say her greetings in a soft, sweet voice and Hermione pressed a hand to her shoulder in a reply.

"I'm just going to see Harry. Have you seen Ron?" she asked, her eyes wandering over the bustling street.

'Oh, he's helping Edna with her bread, though I think he's more helping himself to and less lending a hand." The old woman truly seemed to be thinking about it and Hermione laughed aloud.

"I'm sure he is. Thanks, Mary."

"It's no trouble, dear, none at all."

They parted and Hermione continued on her way. Her ankle grew more painful and she grimaced at the sharp sting. She needed to get to Mungo's before she collapsed. A small set of non-pureblooded staff of the old St Mungo's had been saved during the purge and brought underground to the refuge, managing to pilfer medical supplies as they went. Together with the rest of the resistance, they had resurrected a new Mungo's under the ground, far from the hands of the destructive King.

Ron was where Mary had said. His cheeks puffed like a fiery squirrel and his hands caked up to his elbows with dough, the youngest Weasley son was grinning like a fool. Edna, a woman near sixty, was a muggleborn who felt it was better to make bread by hand. She'd been a baker woman when she was in the free world, now she catered to a much smaller crowd. Molly conceded grudgingly that the bread was a morsel to fight over.

"'Ermione!" Burst out past a bit of potato bread and he dropped his burden of flour to rush to her. He wrapped her in a fierce hug, laughing. "We thought you were a goner! A whole week gone, even Neville started to worry."

Returning his hug, Hermione broke away, attempting to brush off the sticky dough he'd transferred to her. "I'm back a day early, actually. Besides, the more jobs I do, the more you can sit here and eat loaf after loaf."

"Not funny, 'Mione. I was scared." his voice lowered an octave and he placed a hand on her shoulder. His blue eyes met hers and she remembered how much of a friend he'd become to her. She was sure without him, she'd have lost faith in everything.

"I'm fine, Ron, honest. I've got to go to Mungo's, though. Mandatory post-op check up."

He nodded and craned his neck when Edna smacked a rolling pin on the wooden board in the back of the shop. "See you after, then. Suppose you've got a meeting to gather, too, right?"

"Yeah, make sure to be on time. And clean." she added as an afterthought, smiling at him as he sputtered for a response.

Her ankle flared as she left Ron to the sound of a grunt and a bag hoisted onto his shoulder. She grit her teeth and kept up her walking.

It's been a long time since she'd had to fend with pain. Usually she was too careful to get hurt, though it got to the point where she needed to be harmed, just to remind herself that it was always a possibility. Getting complacent was almost as bad as getting killed. She weaved and wended, breaking off to say hello or lending a helping hand to a person in need and it took her a good ten minutes to reach the biggest building aside from the school. The rebellion's Mungo's was as useful as the old one, but made into a triage and with far less supplies at hand. Hermione stared up at the blue and white facade with longing eyes. Harry was up there, in one of those rooms, with his own little bed and attendees that saw to him day-and-night.

After all the commotion had woken the students and the remaining Professors saw to the chaos, Ginny had found a pulse beneath her fingers and their hopes had risen anew. But days and weeks and eventually years passed without him waking. He hadn't changed since the Tower, hadn't shifted an eye or so much as snored louder than normal. His chin and cheeks had grown dark with stubble that required constant tending or he'd wake with a beard as long as Dumbledore's had been. Ginny saw to that. Ginny saw to a lot now. Training under the more knowledgeable of Healers in this Mungo's, she was well on her way to being a full Healer.

Hermione was proud of her, so proud of her. Ginny had grabbed a mantle and bore it with all the grace of a much better person than Hermione saw herself as. Maybe it was because she simply watched and didn't actually _help_. But that was nonsense. Ginny couldn't heal a soul if she wasn't there to help filch supplies and bring home the bacon, as it were. Maybe she was jealous that Ginny had found a calling and she still felt lost in her work.

She'd had so many dreams back in the old world. The free world. That was all lost now.

Harry would raise their spirits when he woke. That was...if he woke. Hermione shook her head to banish the thought and continued onward.

Through the simple pale blue wood doors, awaited a lobby as fresh and clean as a muggle hospital. Pure white with inviting flowers whose seeds had been plucked from outside, in meadows and storefronts, on recon missions that allowed such dalliances, the Healers smiled at her and she found her way to the front desk.

Manning the otherwise empty front desk was Gloria Manders, a young girl of fifteen that had been found half-dead herself in a collapsed flat. Her mother had been a doctor before she died, but she was a muggle doctor. The lack of magical knowledge concerning medicine kept her stiffly behind the desk. For now at least.

Gloria's auburn hair was clipped back high on her head and she wore apprentice Healer robes in the uniform lime green, her soft hazel eyes smiling at Hermione with joy.

"Hermione!" Rushing around the desk, the girl hugged her just as fiercely as Ron had. It was amazing considering the girl's small frame. A lock of hair brushed Hermione's nose and she sniffed back a sneeze. A strong draft of potions and salves invaded her senses and she imagined Hogwarts...the first Potions class in her life.

The face of her former Professor flashed by her mind's eye and she hardened her nostalgic nodes. He was the Slayer in his true home now and he was her Professor no longer.

"Gloria, I need Sam. Is she around?" her voice came out as a croak and she cleared her throat.

"Of course! I'll get her. Oh, Hagrid, get back to bed!" Spinning from Hermione and to the hall behind her, Gloria hurried over to the half-giant. His face was still plump with scars and bruising where Goyle Senior had caught him unawares. They were having trouble finding the cure for it and since it gave him terrible headaches when unattended, he was given residence. Usually long-term cases went to Harry's floor at the top, but Hagrid would have a harder time going up all the time, so they situated him closer to the lower floors Healer's station.

"'Ey, 'Ermione. Good to see ya." He reeked of layers of caked on blue paste that smelled oddly like mothballs and his right eye was watery from the fumes.

"And you." She smiled. "Get some rest, Hagrid. I'll come see you later."

Nodding docilely for his size, the half-giant followed Gloria back to his room.

* * *

Samantha was easily found.

Hermione headed toward a woman who was all of thirty, with short blond hair and eyes as bright as the sun itself, she was a witch with so many credits to her young life it seemed most should be a forgery. But Samantha Rivers was as true a woman as any and she was a stalwart ally and an even greater foe. She was speaking to another Healer about the state of Dean Thomas. He'd been one of the few survivors of a botched mission about a fortnight ago and he was chugging along swimmingly, at least that's what Gloria added.

"He'll be swimming when his legs both work properly. Remember one was almost not salvageable. Tell me the truth, not your predictions." Samantha handed the clipboard back to Gloria who looked chastened then looked around. Her eyes fell on Hermione and she clapped. "Marvelous! Just who I wanted to see."

"Hey, Sam. Any improvements?"

The first words from her mouth were always inquiries about Harry. He was the one person she thought of constantly.

"Happily, yes." Samantha's Scottish brogue rivaled McGonagall's any day. "Though not what we want. He spoke."

Hermione's eyes widened and she rushed much too fast for her ankle's liking. It gave and she stumbled, bracing herself on the nice and organized front desk, she managed to maintain her dignity, though Samantha saw the slip.

"Perhaps a check-up and then a tale, yes?"

Hermione happily agreed.

* * *

**A/N:** I believe the chapters from now on shall be this length, roughly 4,500 or more, though not exceeding 6,500 hopefully. The POVs will switch, as I took to the ASOIAF way of presenting more than one side to the story. Let me know if there is anything you're curious about, I welcome the thoughts. Tickle2Kill.


	3. Numb

~*~Numb~*~

It had all been simple once; long ago when the thought of the Light was not a running joke and the threat of the dark remained behind closed doors and upon the tongues of those too weak to speak of it in public. But he'd watched from the inside as it fell apart and the truth of it far exceeded the simple minds of the pondering. He'd watched the descent of the Light, the emptiness that replaced the peace, the good, the endless courage of the Gryffindor masses.

Like a dying star that blazed its brightest before its death throes, the Light fought an almighty scourge with a clenched fist and all the feeble quotes of better men. They had kept the resistance until the very end and none could fault their persistent defiance, even if their bravery became their undoing. It would have been called glorious once. Now it was remembered fondly as the last stand of the weak. The last stand of anything that mattered.

When he dared dream at all, he had seen a world where even he could find some rest without a thought of whom would hold the wand above his heart by the morn. He had seen a world where he was not so reviled and where he might claim the life he forfeit for teenage dramas. He had seen a world where he was at peace with his lost love and where his life had meaning once again.

Alas, he blamed Bellatrix for the lack of these selfish dreams in his waking life.

It proved too much for her fragile countenance, the sight of The-Boy-Who-Lived standing brazenly on the Tower. He was wide open for the kill; the boy must have presented himself as such a tempting prize. Former orders, even from the love of her twisted heart, vanished upon the meeting of her black eyes to his green. It was quite the coup. People would talk of it for ages.

Bellatrix became known as the Viper for her deeds...it was strangely fitting.

The maddened witch got off with a smack on the palm and a biting reprimand. He'd been saddled with an eternity of this torment and the false happiness that his 'cherished' leader had succeeded in his lifelong quest for greatness. But where would he live amongst this reformed world of Pureblood nonsense? He was Halfblood after all.

Ah, but he was the second part of a joint effort; he was the Slayer. He was the great being who had vanquished the all-encompassing greatness that was Dumbledore. He was the glorified first stone, having laid claim to the future only someone so despotic as Voldemort could have glimpsed in tarot sessions with a faux-seer. Without his 'brave' act, no one would know this veritable paradise of Utopian virtue and Pureblooded civility. Without him, the Light would never have truly fallen.

What a crowning jewel it was to him, to know if he had never lived, the light may have trounced the reborn Lord of Darkness. But it was not all sunshine and rainbows.

Oh, no. Let us not forget his past and its place in his future. Let us not forget his silent pain. It did not die with the light...if anything, the pain grew worse until the festering wound in his chest became an unholy cesspool of regret, self-loathing and disinterest in the whole of it all. Inside him was the epitome of the word agony, embodied in his very bones and pulsing through his marrow. It grew within his blood and gave off a noxious odor of irreparable frailty.

In the end, he'd failed all the missions ever given him. In the end, he had turned his back and shunned his only allies. There was a special place in hell for all of his crimes and he yearned for it with all of his black little heart. Hell was a sight better than here, he was sure.

The boy was nowhere to be found and the others were thought dead or missing, casualties of the new regime of the King. He could not gaze at this world any longer with eyes that held hope in their depths. Hope died when the boy did and nothing could survive the Killing Curse. Not even The-Boy-Who-Lived.

Severus Snape was but a shell of a man now, driven by some unidentified need to survive. Something drove his muscles and forced his blood to pump through his veins. In his being, buried beneath the visage of loyalty, remained a seed of his former talent. He was nothing if not a survivalist, even when there was nothing to live for. Call it habit, he didn't care.

Hell forbid he should but slip one instant, the masked fiends of his loving brethren would swarm on the Slayer and fill him with cuts from neck to navel. Then they'd hang him atop the Ministry as carrion for the hungry vultures of political gain through fear and viral adherence of the Master's values.

This, for pride alone, he could not allow.

* * *

Stepping from behind his desk in the haunting office of Headmaster, where all the portraits had been hidden behind shrouds and the trinkets of the former Headmaster no longer resided, Severus Snape crossed to the blazing green fire and took a graceful seat to better see his Floo-call guest.

Spinning until even he felt dizzy, the head of the grizzly beast Fenrir Greyback appeared, looking haggard and far worse for wear than his own.

"Ah, he sends his lapdog to fetch me. Should I provide a treat for such a good mutt?" he asked, his voice dripping with such seriousness the werewolf looked affronted.

"Shut your mouth, you bastard. The master will want your presence. Malfoy tells me to send word of his wild anger." The werewolf huffed and a great cloud of smoke and ash fled from his breath. Whisking the filth away with a wave of his hand, the dissatisfied Headmaster placed his left ankle on his knee.

"I know but one true bastard, Greyback, and unless my eyes deceive, I am in his honorable presence. But, aside from that, why would Lucius send you to warn me of anger not of my care? I am not the soother, nor the servant as Wormtail; why should I be aware of this?"

Puzzling over the question, Greyback sighed, then coughed at the ashes. "It has something to do with these occurrences of missing supplies and the frequent guerilla attacks preceding and following them. He tells me that you are the wisest of all the pet-named children. You will be asked to come up with a solution."

Chuckling darkly, Severus stood. "Begone, mange, you waste my time."

"It was Malfoy's orders, not mine. Take it up with him." Not pausing for a reply, Greyback retreated from the fire.

The space where once any visitor could see the personality of one Albus Dumbledore was now occupied by stacks of books and parchment, scales and scrying mirrors, multi-colored vials lined up on shelves against the far wall giving off their own magical glow from behind a thick glass door, and a multitude of broken gold disks stacked together in a pile not unlike a dragon's hoard. Taking his proper seat once again, closing his eyes to the strain of his current predicament, Severus laid his head back against the chair which was curved at the top and pitch black. But as his mind raced across the world and back, he felt the vulnerability of his craned neck and shot into an agreeable position.

Just the way to end the Slayer. Slit his throat while he ponders death itself. Yes, hilarious poetry of the sad irony he endured.

The bastards within his school were not worthy of the education offered and if they were, they scarce fought for a thing they weren't given. He was sure, if they all went deaf, dumb and blind, he would have an easier time teaching them.

Hmm, maybe a few would simply...blow themselves up at his old subject and he'd be spared the endless years of torture attempting to corral the products of an age that should have never been. Money bought about everything but sense and he had too much money to spend himself. If Voldemort's success did not bring him emotional riches, it sure brought him financial ones.

Being the Slayer was much better than being a Professor, except where he was concerned. He'd much rather deal with petty House squabbles and ceaseless prattle than work day-in and day-out at the idiotic post of Headmaster.

He was certain he knew why Albus went so insane he wished to die. Oh, that's right. He confuses himself with the doddering old fool with his blackened hand, forgive him.

As he went about arranging the parchments on his desk that went well beyond his attention span as of late, his mark flared with such vehemence it drew a hiss from him. Perhaps Lucius was right. The King on the Throne of Bodies seemed very...displeased.

Standing again and flicking his wand to appear Death-approved, Severus Snape crossed over to the Floo and threw a handful of powder. As he whirled away, he let himself fade into the depths of his being, where only the memories reigned, where his life was still his own. The place where his dead dreams still coiled in the dirt...struggling like flowers for the sun's glow. Best not to make those known, death was the only foreseeable outcome.

* * *

The Ministry of the King was as dark and as dreary as an ancient grave in his eyes. Part of him hoped this place would kill him. Part of him laughed at the thought. This trophy of lucifugal triumph was what his heart beat for. This was his life now.

Stepping from the flaring green fires into the Atrium of the King's Ministry, the despondent man in the black robes parted the sea of bright colors which denoted human presence. If people existed to either side of him, he ceased to care. When they saw his tailored robes and the specially-crafted white mask of the Slayer, they scurried to make way for him. He was a man to avoid or praise and neither with any words or handshakes. His mask was more awe-inspiring than his own face but only one could be truly daunting.

He heard voices before he saw his comrades and deftly sidestepped the rather large statue of their sovereign.

As large as it was when he took over and as golden in its stunning brilliance, the Throne of Bodies sculpture loomed with ever-widening power in the center of the bustling Atrium. Magic Is Might glared at them all with both an exaltation and a subsequent warning. He bared his teeth to it as he went by and could have sworn one of the bodies shifted to grin back in twisted agony.

Yaxley stood beside a wide-eyed Pius Thicknesse, his face equal parts drawn and stern. His hair was darker by two shades than the infamous Malfoy locks and he possessed none of the ethereal features. His smooth forest green robes wrapped around him and gave him a presence of fierceness that was collected in a gleaming silver serpent pin at his breastbone. Pius wore more subdued clothing, though his height gave him an advantage his outerwear did not. The figurehead Thicknesse jumped only slightly as Severus stepped up, his vacant eyes swiveling over the man's face before centering on his eyes.

"Why, Severus, it is a pleasure." his voice sounded as weak as he was, feeble-minded and easily controlled.

"I'm sure." he replied to the wisp of a man. "Is our King in the Minister's office, Yaxley?"

His hawk-like eyes snapped to Severus' without pause and he gave a curt nod. "He's waiting for you."

Severus did not even mutter his thanks before he spun on his heel and made for the lofty Minister's office. Since the Tower, Severus had become a sort of prodigal son. Having killed the greatest wizard ever known in their time, one of their Lord's greatest enemies and the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, he had dealt a blow that many of his brethren assumed the Light could not crawl back from. Much to their distaste, however, he was raised high above them as the truest of servants, forgiven of his sins against their Lord and placed in a position of importance that even the pureblood followers had not achieved.

Severus was the King's confidante and seen as untouchable. He found he relished in the ability to be as cruel and unfeeling as he wanted and have no cause to watch his step. Pius struck up a vapid conversation with a passing official and Yaxley faded off into the mass of commuters, his eyes following Severus until he vanished from sight.

* * *

Sitting in a comfy-looking chair that Pius technically owned, sat the patriarch of their desolate kingdom. He had grown...vainglorious in his given titles and his evident success. It wore light about his shoulders and gave a sluggish beat to his stolid heart. In this grandiose travesty of one man's delirious dreams, King Voldemort had become unlike any Dark Lord before him. He had succeeded in his plans of tyrannical domination and, in doing, solidified his status as the greatest wizard to ever live.

At least that's what Rita Skeeter would have penned with far less words. He was sure the Beetle was fluttering around the many floors of the Ministry, seeking out any unfaithful amongst his highness' loyal subjects to lambast in her gaudy kitchen slop of an article.

Sweeping to the front of the once imposing desk, Severus took a knee. His mask shifted to the right slightly, enough to annoy him, but he pulled a smirk and it slid back into place.

"Severus. Good, good. Be seated." Waving his hand in a gesture of warm welcome, the King sat back in his chair and Nagini could be seen slithering up to the colorless shoulders of the crimson-eyed fiend. Severus banished his mask and took a seat opposite his master.

"My Lord, I hear you need my advice on a matter." Severus inquired softly, his void eyes meeting Voldemort's without a hint of fear. Gone were the days when he feared his master's gaze. What did he have to hide anymore aside from dead thoughts and useless reminisces?

"Yes. You are as fast as the wind, Slayer. Perhaps you even know what I would ask of you?" The use of the word ask would have drawn a resentful glare from the former Severus, now he took note of it and promptly forgot it. The frigid eyes that contrasted with their own fiery shading bored deep into Severus' heart and found nothing of interest in the way of lies.

"Logic dictates you wish me to tell you who I would select as guard of these supplies. But in all truth, my king, I would simply go myself. I trust no one that does not cease to live or reign over me. As for the attacks, one can only assume they are connected. Perhaps severing the head of one problem shall end the life of the other."

Smirking with his lipless mouth, the serpentine man stood. "So it shall be then, Severus. There is a significant cargo of potion supplies being sent to St. Mungo's tomorrow at noon and I want you to lead the guard. Bring me the head of whoever dares steal from me."

Bowing his head with nary a shiver at the closeness of the feared leader, Severus showed his acquiescence.

"Excellent. You are dismissed."

Leaving his sovereign's presence didn't carry the relief as it had four short years ago. He mechanically replaced his mask once more and let his robes billow out behind him as he spun to the door. Exiting the office was much like entering it, except the room was bigger and filled with more bodies. Severus wondered if he would ever care about anything ever again. Glancing one last time at the busy Atrium before he floo'ed back to Hogwarts, he highly doubted it.

* * *

**A/N:** This should be the last chapter under my 4,500-6,500 limit. Things should get moving properly in the next chapter. Hope you enjoyed this one! Tickle2Kill.


	4. Believe

~*~Believe~*~

Samantha's hands were clinical and slightly cold as she prodded at the healed wound of Hermione's ankle, ensuring that there was nothing unfixed. Satisfied, the Healer stood and sighed.

"All better now. Be more careful in the future though, you might not be so lucky."

Hermione smiled grimly at the warning, she'd heard it a million times before, and slid off the examination bed to her feet. It had been plush and comfy after so long out in the King's world without a moment to let her guard down, but she had more important things on her mind. Before she could properly open her mouth to begin to ask, the Healer turned with a smile.

"King's Cross, but that's all he has said. Nothing more. It seemed to me he was surprised about something."

"Was he...I mean, could you tell if he..." she searched for the words, something to convey what she meant to ask.

"Was waking up?" Samantha offered. At Hermione's nod, she shook her head. "Unfortunately, no. He went right back to his eternal slumber the moment the words were out."

Something about the way Samantha said eternal made her mad. She walked forward, her brown eyes alight with fury, and fixed her gaze on the older woman. "It's not eternal. He'll wake, he just needs time. Harry will come back."

Samantha's shrewd golden eyes met Hermione's glare evenly. The older woman pressed her hand reassuringly into her shoulder. "The odds of him recovering are slimmer than you know. In muggle coma cases, it would be possible to come back without too many adverse effects at this stage, but wizards are different. It was not a normal spell that forged this state he is in, Hermione. It was death that caused this coma and in the end, I believe, it is death that will release him from it. No wizard has ever come back from this, to my knowledge, if any have ever stayed alive longer than it took for the spell to occur."

Hermione bit her lip from the weight the words added to her shoulders and she shook off the Healer's comforting hand. She wanted to say anything to defend Harry's abilities to come back, but no words formed on her tongue and she settled with storming out in a directionless fury. Was everyone but herself, Ginny, and Ron deserting Harry? It seemed like every face she saw told her to give in to the truth she'd rather deny.

Moody sent out groups with the motto 'For the rebellion!' now, when in the first two years it had been a cry of Harry's name. In the roads and shops of the slowly growing refuge, people had clung to the hope that the Order would lead the charge against the King, and a handful of months ago they shouted for Harry to spearhead the battle that would end this tyranny. At some point in time, when she had been busy scouting supplies and trailing known Lords in this King's dominion, the whole of the resistance had abandoned Harry to the fate that had been dealt to him.

But Hermione had been with him since the beginning, she had been his friend through everything. When Harry needed someone to talk with, laugh with, share secrets with, it had been her. When he doubted himself, she had been there to raise him up again in confidence. When the world was against him, she would be the one who would never leave his side. Ron had done the same, he'd committed himself to Harry's destiny as surely as she had.

Harry would find friends and allies whenever he woke, they would never abandon him. She tried to make it sound like a certainty inside her own head, and when she registered that fact, it made her anger rage further. Nothing anyone could say would make her leave Harry's side. Even if the world collapsed around them, she would believe that he would survive.

She had to pause for a moment in the middle of the hall to gather her wits. She couldn't self-destruct every time someone doubted Harry. She had to be strong for everyone, even those who deserted him. She had to be the pillar that held the resistance aloft; because if not her then who?

* * *

With her ankle feeling better and her head a little clearer without the searing pain, Hermione walked down the clean white halls of the fourth floor in the subterranean Mungo's. It was easier to call it Mungo's than to look up an equally important witch or wizard and place a placard of their achievements above the door. She had wanted to name the place after Madam Pomfrey, but it hadn't stuck. The small emergency room in the miniature Hogwarts was called Poppy's Ward, though.

Madam Pomfrey was lost in the second wave of the attack on Hogwarts. She'd taken up the helm of field medic and was brought down by a rogue Sectumsempra. She was too far gone by the time she was discovered and they had been unable to revive her. Many more lives were lost after Poppy's death. They suffered sorely from the lack of healing in their reserve.

About a month after the killing of Dumbledore and the supposed killing of Harry, Voldemort had laid siege on the once-refuge of Hogwarts. It was useless to fight at that point as the wards around the grounds had been disabled by someone from the inside. It wasn't until the news that Severus Snape had been named Headmaster reached them that they understood. The Board of Governors was easily swayed with money and a brief visit from the Dark Lord himself. It wasn't long before they bent to his will as reeds to fast-flowing water. He had lowered the wards as was his wont as the new headmaster. It was all they could do to flee from there alive after that.

Percy Weasley was the first to fall when Minerva sounded the retreat. He was defending the base of the moving staircases and guiding all the students from the lunchtime gathering to the Room of Requirement when Antonin Dolohov slashed him with a silent hex that slit his throat faster and deeper than any muggle knife. Hagrid had bowled the offending Death Eater over when he saw him but the slimy rat had crawled away leaving a near bloodless Percy in his wake.

Filch was as unexpected as all the rest and his was gruesome. It seems that whatever he had done to delay them had sparked them to attack at once. Four Death Eaters and all with malicious intent on their wand-tips...there hadn't been anything to salvage. Hermione had thankfully not been there, but Remus Lupin had and his tale chilled them all. It was enough, she felt, that the Death Eaters lowest lows be known from that tale alone.

It became apparent after a few more of these distinctly malicious deaths that a quick end would not be given for those who would oppose Lord Voldemort. But because of the preparedness of the castle, very few were actually lost in the initial escape. The journey to the refuge took only a few more and none as close to the cause as anyone feared. A couple of Hogsmeade residents, a handful of Aurors who had come to help, but most everyone she knew had managed to spring free of Voldemort's maw and flee into the haven that was Erebus Books.

Hestia Jones had managed to fight her way to safety as the last lingering children went into the Room of Requirement. She was by far one of the bravest of them. She fought Greyback, Nott and Crabbe Senior at once and succeeded in trumping them long enough to close the door and seal them from their escape route. Drained of energy completely and on the verge of collapsing, Hestia had made it in time to arrive at the refuge with the rest of them. Due to some of the hexes and curses sent at her, she required weekly check-ups to ensure the ones that stuck were well and truly gone.

Passing the open door of an empty room, Hermione made her way to the last one on this floor. This was Harry's; room 431, the most frequented long-term room in all of Mungo's. Harry, coma or no, was still the brightest beacon of the resistance to some, and simply gazing upon him was enough to renew their faith. The assurance of his rising and falling chest was like a soaring happiness and since he had spoken...there was hope that he would wake. Of course, Hermione disregarded Samantha's predictions, for the stubborn vein in her refused to even accept it as a possibility.

Hermione's hand fell on the blue door with a open palm and she took a breath. Seeing Harry was a struggle every time, as it hurt her to see his supine form looking frail and vulnerable. He was always dwarfed by the flower-filled room, lost among the well-wishers and quiet singing of a plush Fawkes, which was on the bedside table. It looked up at her as she stepped in the softly humming room but never stopped singing. The highs and lows of its laments made a shiver go down her spine. Fawkes had vanished after Dumbledore had been put to rest and Ginny had charmed this plush one to sing like the phoenix, though it could never be the same.

She expected to see the other woman in the comfy powder blue seat, her smaller hand curled around Harry's lifeless one, but the room was decidedly empty. Unlike in the muggle hospitals that Hermione had been in, there were no machines pumping fluids or monitoring his heart rate. The room was charmed to send a warning bell if anything went awry with the patient and the charm included all the spells required to watch over them. Healers would roam from room to room daily to check more thoroughly, but mostly the rooms ran themselves. It had taken all of two years to outfit this place into its current state.

Gingerly sitting in the soft chair that was inches from the bed, Hermione raised her eyes from the floor and looked at Harry's stubble-free face. He looked older, his hair had gotten longer and less unruly, with a more angular set to his cheeks and jaw. He was a man now...a man to save them all. Her heart ached and Hermione looked back to the floor. On the plain floor there was no fear. With eyes on the floor she could master her emotions. Lifting her eyes high enough to see the faded yet prominent scar of I must not tell lies on Harry's hand, Hermione grasped it and began to speak.

"I saw Hagrid earlier, Harry. He's...he's still hurt, but he'll heal eventually. The headaches are turning up less and less, which Ginny said was a good thing. He'll be fit enough to open a dragon hatchery on Gideon Row in a few more months. There'll be twenty Norberta's when you wake, I expect." Pausing to stem the sob that crawled up from her chest, Hermione shook her head.

"You'll wake, won't you, Harry?" She continued softly. "You can hear me, I know you can. You're braver than all of us, Harry." Sniffling, Hermione used her other hand to wipe at her stubbornly wet eyes. "Sometimes the Order says you won't ever wake. Sometimes they give up on you, but I won't. I won't give up, Harry. I...I can't." A sob broke free and Hermione pressed her face into the bed by Harry's leg.

Every time she came in here, felt his heart beating and saw the proof that he was a survivor until the bitter end, she grew stronger in her hope. But it could only last so long...and the length of time Harry had been in this endless sleep chipped away at her resolve. Day after day had given no changes, offered no incentive to keep believing. It was almost enough to despair. Hermione had faced a brief bout of this sorrowful agony once or twice over these four years and it just dug her pit of fear deeper.

The thought that Harry wouldn't wake left her hollow inside and broke her down to a lost girl, searching for something to hold onto until the storm had passed. Hermione's chest throbbed with pain as she imagined the rebellion without Harry. All she could see in her mind's eye of this future was desolation. The end of Harry was the end of them all.

A noise outside the door to the room made Hermione jolt up and scrub furiously at her eyes to rid them of tears. Glancing upwards, she saw Ginny. Older and more mature for the world they lived in, Ginny wore lime green Healer robes and her short red hair was up at the top of her head in a messy bun. The younger woman's brown eyes flicked over the room and a sad smile came across her face.

"Hey, 'Mione." She came over and wrapped her arms around Hermione's shoulders. The embrace felt too much like that of a griever and Hermione blinked her eyes clear again. Lightly returning the hug, the older woman stood.

"I should go."

"You can stay if you want. I was just visiting again." Ginny replied, her face as fearful and drawn as Hermione's.

Shaking her tawny head softly, Hermione sighed. "I've got to go to a meeting with Moody soon. I've got news." She felt like her words came out over and over in mechanic repetition.

"Oh. I won't be there, I don't think. Sam is making me and Gloria take rounds tonight."

Nodding and squeezing Harry's hand tightly, Hermione weaved her way from the bed. "I'll have Ron relay the goings-on when it's all through, yeah?"

Smiling at Hermione, Ginny took her place in the powder blue seat. "Thanks, 'Mione. Be safe."

Nodding without replying, Hermione left the room and shut the door.

* * *

They had all gathered in New Grimmauld, a headquarters of sorts for their more...strategic and secretive business. It wasn't as large as the old one, but it served its purpose just as well. Kreacher had come along as had Dobby, though Kreacher was less enthusiastic about the situation. Both were busying themselves catering to the group of Order members; Kreacher beating Dobby about the ears if he stepped too close to him.

Hermione sat across from Tonks, who was nursing a Firewhisky, and stared off into space on the second floor of the headquarters. There were only two floors, the bottom for training and the like, while the top was dedicated to papers and maps of important people and locations. The table in the center of the room acted like an interactive map for use in tactical operation planning. Standing over this table was Moody, who brushed aside Dobby's drink and stomped across the threadbare carpet to the list of important Death Eaters. Jabbing his thumb at the Slayer, he muttered something about security to Remus before spinning back to the table.

Ron was freshly showered, newly clad in a loose white shirt paired with worn jeans, and gazing around seriously, his blue eyes focusing on one thing after the other until they met hers. He walked over with all the swagger of gigolo and Lavender Brown giggled under her breath from four seats away.

"Once Kingsley gets here we can start." Ron told Hermione as he took a seat beside her and winked at the blushing Lavender.

When the attack was through and the survivors had gathered in the refuge to regroup, Lavender and Ron had bonded once more over their charges; the little children of all ages that they had been tasked to watch over. It was a full time job and together they had excelled, each growing up quicker and quicker. Both of them were more mature now, even Lavender, Hermione was forced to admit. They played at being a couple every now and then, never lasting longer than the cycle of the moon.

"Where is he, Ron? Last I saw him he was talking to...oh, here he is." Tonks waved her arm across the table to where Kingsley was walking in, his robes askew and his eyes tired.

"Good man, Kingsley. We're ready, sit down. Let's begin." Moody tapped his walking stick on the table loudly and all talking ceased. Everyone drifted to the center of the room and took their seats, their eyes eagerly taking inventory of those present. Hermione crossed her arms over the thick wood and leaned forward.

"I'll start us off, I think." muttered Bill Weasley as he brushed his hair from his face.

When Moody nodded in acceptance, he spoke again. "It seems that each bastard with the title Lord has control of something important to You-Know-Who. The lords have better security details around them at all times than most dignitaries and each has been given some token as it was called as it passed hands. I was able to infiltrate Gringotts, with a little help, on my last outing and discovered what was placed in some vaults. A cup and a locket. Lord Snape the Slayer was given some head adornment, but it wasn't given physically. It was...handed over through more sentimental means.

"It wasn't clear what the adornment was, but it seemed important. The cup went to Lord Lestrange and his wife, the Viper, Bellatrix. The locket was taken from Umbridge and given to Lord Malfoy's son, Draco. Lord Malfoy himself has also been given control of the Muggleborn Registry Commission and has been promoted to Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Merlin knows how he'll be able to juggle all of those, but that's his problem." Taking a breath, he grabbed his elbows and gazed around the room. "Our problem, however, is much more detrimental. The three Lords given status by these objects have increased their individual ranks and protection. I fear these gifts are key to the King's power."

"Is there any proof of this, Bill?" Kingsley asked, his tired eyes looking sure and searching.

Pulling a roguish smile, the eldest Weasley chuckled darkly. "Is there any proof that You-Know-Who is the rightful king? No? Well, it so happens he has the throne."

Kingsley shook his head at the sarcasm and settled into his chair. "You could have just remarked about some feeling you had."

"It's not as funny, though, is it?" quipped Fred as George laughed.

"Gentlemen!" Moody barked, his fist slamming into the table so that the small figures jumped. "This is no time for jokes. Constant vigilance or death."

The things Bill spoke of perked up her interest and Hermione glanced at Ron. His face was the same, cool and serious, but his eyes looked to her in surprise. Those gifts sounded just like Horcruxes. The cup and the locket, those were obvious. Harry had told them as much during his time with Dumbledore. Was Voldemort so sure in his victory that he made it so easy for them? Hermione didn't dare to hope. But what was the adornment? She couldn't remember anything of it from Harry's retelling of the meetings with their late Headmaster. Ron frowned and gripped her hand beneath the table, his eyes telling her he caught it and that they would speak of it later.

"I'll take up from here, Alastor, if you don't mind?" Remus intervened, his brown eyes calm and placid in the face of the older man's anger.

Nostrils flaring from his ruffled feathers, the aged Auror nodded in acceptance once more and the werewolf turned to those gathered. Arthur Weasley was making a comment to Bill that his son ignored with a waved hand and a scoff. Clearing his throat, the ragged man started on his report.

"There are wolves who wish to join us but most are too fearful of the King's punishments. I've promised to bring them here, as soon as next week, so we need to secure an area for them and prepare Wolfsbane."

Samantha, who had shown up right before Kingsley, growled. "Do you think it's a piece of cake to make you Wolfsbane every month? We're worn thin as it is, Mungo's can't take more hybrids like you. No offense." She added with a sharp glance at the man.

"None taken, but Sam we need as many wands as we can get. The King grows more powerful each day, every second we waste..." She cut him off with a snap.

"Should we destroy ourselves with our numbers in our pursuit to destroy him? I'll not watch us murder ourselves for a rag-tag bunch of beasts."

"Beasts?! These people had as much choice as I and they've got families to think of, muggleborn and wizard alike. They are willing to join us and I say we allow them to. What harm will come of taking on the people that Greyback would recruit within a month?"

Samantha went to retort, but Tonks turned her eyes to Moody and he nodded.

"Enough! Sam, you'll prepare more Wolfsbane and Diggle you'll make sure rooms are ready for them. Understood?" His voice brooked no argument and both people nodded in acquiescence to the definitive leader.

Hermione watched all of it with a growing hatred for Samantha and she had to scold herself for the thoughts that ran through her head. She didn't hate the woman, she really didn't, but her attitudes on things were beginning to chafe her sensibilities raw. Neville shifted in his seat further down the table and she met his eyes. He had been paired as her scouting partner for a year and they'd set up a great system. He was like her twin now, they thought so alike about things. Every once in a blue moon, she and he would have a contest with Fred and George to see who could guess something from the other person's mind. Out of the three contests, they'd won one each, the third being a draw. She thought they could win if they went at it again.

"Granger, you had something to impart." Moody inquired, his swivelling blue eye locking on her once before zooming around again.

"Seamus contacted me while we were out scouting last time that he'd finally figured out the pattern of the medical supplies. I double-checked it when I was gone and it came out perfect. He's given me and Neville a schedule for it and the names of those set to guard it. We have an opening tomorrow at noon if you'd agree to it."

Tapping in a thoughtful tick while his jaw worked, Moody stared at her. "You sure you just want Longbottom with you in this? I could send Seamus back out and Ronald...he's not up to much."

"Yeah, I can go, 'Mione, I'm fine." Finnigan added, his eyes drooping even as he volunteered.

Hermione shot him down. "Seamus has been out four times back-to-back, he needs a break. Plus Ron's supposed to join Bill and Kingsley when you go eavesdropping on the next Snatcher meeting tomorrow."

"I could put someone else on that job, you should be more protected." Moody tried, his brown eye clearly sensing defeat.

"I've got Neville and besides, it's just a routine supply grab. We'll be fine." She was sure that everything would go well with this mission as it had all the times before. Nothing was different, all the players had been named and the timing was perfect. It would be easy as could be.

Sighing at the woman, the mismatched eyes focused on her solidly and he nodded. "Fine. Noon it is, then."

Hermione relaxed back into her seat and Neville smiled at her. She returned it brightly, but the piercing eyes of Alastor Moody broke her gaze. Looking up at the man, Hermione frowned. As Kingsley began talk of some other business, his eyes met hers and she shivered from the foreboding feeling that invaded her chest. Something didn't feel right. Something was not well.

* * *

**A/N:** Here comes the fun part. Hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Feel free to tell me. Tickle2Kill.


	5. Thievery

~*~Thievery~*~

He woke that dawn with the feeling that he had lived this day before. He couldn't understand it, to be honest. Crawling out of bed with his head full of slumber, Severus gave his toilet its customary good morning and indulged himself with a shower, staying in there longer than ten minutes. It almost felt to him as though he was preparing for an event he hadn't planned and the sense of coming excitement made him feel paranoid.

He hadn't been paranoid since he stopped caring about anything and the reemergence of it so late into his depression planted in him the thought that he'd reached a new low. Maybe it was the same with depressive life as it was with hypothermia victims. One moment you stop shivering and everything seems normal again...but the truth is far more sinister. It brought a chuckle from his throat to think he'd finally reached the last stage of his descent into darkness. All these years immersed in the filth and now he finds the bottom.

He wore his customary robes, laced up his fancier black dragon-hide boots, and whipped out of the Headmaster's suite with a billowing flourish.

The first person he encountered was no person at all. Floating twelve feet up and touching his toes, the poltergeist named Peeves laughingly mocked him with rude gestures. It had been a long time since the spirit had tried to taunt anyone with his words. Amycus Carrow had been strolling down the fourth floor corridor when he had been confronted by the being and the subsequent demand for vengeance prompted Severus to act. The most Severus had done was to send the Baron after him and command Peeves' silence. This was done and, in time, the poltergeist had found a way around the punishment.

Ignoring the otherwise pestering spirit, Severus made his way down to breakfast.

The Great Hall was much changed since its turn as the Dark Lord's nursery had begun. Everything had been diminished to fit his regime, even down to the arranging of the Houses. There were only three now, as the fourth had become too unruly in the beginning to remain alive.

The Gryffindors who had remained for one reason or another had tried to keep up a form of the past Dumbledore's Army, causing havoc where they could. But the end of that came when the King's patience ran out and Severus quickly silenced them. That next year the students either did not return or were absorbed into the other three houses. The dominant house was Slytherin, of course, which had all the children of the high and mighty Death Eaters.

Before this reign had begun, to be named the son or daughter of a known Death Eater had been like the kiss of death to the students. Now, it was frowned upon to have a parent without the Mark or to choose not to get the Mark when you were of age. The world saw as the King did, for better or worse.

Severus had taken to walking straight through the front doors of the Great Hall because he simply just did not care or have the patience for sneaking about to scare the children with his sudden appearance. He was able to do that just by walking down the middle of the Great Hall without the wasted energy of taking the Teacher's entrance and quietly taking his place. He was Headmaster now and that came with many perks.

Also, and to his further grim humor, he was known all across Wizarding London for being the Slayer. So when he went through the throngs of students, he was recognized as the man who had killed his employer and taken his position. It added the benefit of fear from the more unruly students and he had come to relish the cowering glances from the selfish little twerps.

* * *

Breakfast was a boring affair.

Alecto had become enamored with a certain punishment for some of the more weed-like Gryffindor returnees. She droned on for the entire meal about the glorious sounds of agony the buggers made as she clamped on the wired metal clips that sent jolts of electricity through them. She thought it particularly quaint as she could control the intensity with her wand while grading papers. Severus found his morning captivated by a certain swirling fissure in the thick wood of the table and his finger traced it over and over in a hypnotising manner, his mind wandering outward and inward and back again until he felt like he was going mad.

After the students and teachers had cleared out to run their normal duties and routines, Severus let his feet carry him to the Astronomy Tower which was deserted as it was the daylight hours. His eyes narrowed from the bright sun, he walked amongst the memories and the regrets with a heavy heart. He only came up here when he needed to remember what he had lost and what he had made possible. There was no one there to punish him for what he had done and he felt it was his right as the Slayer to forge his own justice.

It was much too late for him to take back what he had decimated, too late to seize back the things he had so longed for years ago. Albus had told him once that he believed no man was ever past the opportunity of redemption, simply past the will to seek it out. It had made him laugh then, to know personally the things man could do yet to hear those words.

Men he knew could murder their children for their own lives. Men he knew could kiss the robes of a madman and smile about it. Men he knew would rather live a thousand lives with the blood of muggles to their name than two Galleons to rub together.

But Albus had stared at him with those twinkling blue eyes and told him he could be redeemed. That fool of an old man had believed in him when no other human on earth did and, in the end, he had killed him. Regardless if the man wished it or not, Severus could never erase the image from his mind or the wash off the taste of his spell. He relived it every day, pounding it into his heart until the truth of it brought him to his knees.

As much as he loathed the things he had to put himself through for forgiveness in the eyes of the former Headmaster, he had willingly done them. Everything turned on him in the end, Severus reflected as he let his hand follow the path of the railing. It was cold to the touch and brought his attention to the world around him.

The wind up here on the Tower was much more frigid than he had expected, but it was nice to feel something that mimicked being alive. The dying world around him made him think of his own soul and he wondered if there would be anything to send to the next world. The wind whipped across his head with such force it threw his hair into his face and he faded off once more into reverie.

The time on the hill, pleading for a chance from the vision of a conquering Dumbledore, flashed into his mind and he sighed. It was as if he was reliving this over and over again. Debasing himself for the chance to be born again. What he wouldn't give for an opportunity to undo all his mistakes and fix the world he had helped destroy.

As he lived now, he felt he was already in purgatory. But what he experienced was torture and punishment when all he wished for was a chance to atone. Gods, let me atone. It was all he asked.

* * *

Severus stormed down the darkened street with his wand in hand, his Slayer mask securely placed on his bored face.

He was forced to lead a troupe of idiots on a fool's errand. What a change from the monotony of his daily life. He couldn't even find it in him to laugh at the joke, regardless of the humor that registered in his head. The man felt so separate from his own body that he could have floated off to his death and he knew his vessel would chug on to do his King's bidding. It was a pathetic thought.

"Who's supposed to take point, Slayer? You never said." The waste of air that was Samuel Crabbe asked from four feet away in a voice two octaves too high.

Flicking silent black eyes to the man, Severus stared at him until he quivered and shrank back. The small assembled group all appeared like rats groping for crumbs from a poor beggar master to him. What lows would he have to dig up to achieve this sorry state of being?

"Rodolphus will take point as this is officially his job, not mine. Crabbe, Fulson, Martis, pick a pallet and follow it through every checkpoint." As Rodolphus took off with a respectful nod, Severus turned his eyes back to the lesser three. "Crabbe, if you ever think to raise your voice to question me again, I will see to it that you part with your tongue. Am I misunderstood in any fashion?"

Samuel glared at him with wavering pride then shook his head and lowered his eyes. "You aren't, Slayer."

"Good, get to your position." Severus Disillusioned himself and whistled once as the signal to begin.

After the staffs of St Mungo's had begun to seem the culprits of the shortage in medical stock, the King saw fit to add certain measures to the cargo to limit the ability of theft from the inside. Charms and wards were placed around the stock already there and the incoming stock was sent directly to this storage facility. It seemed to do the trick until certain potions were taken from the makers and tampered with before they were sent out.

Macnair became the first victim of what appeared to be a planned attack and from then on a small team was assigned to escort the cache from the makers to the official who would then send it to the safe storage building.

Over the last few months bouts of missing supplies, regardless of this safety measure, had become too frequent to be mere mistake. This was the reason Severus was even here to lead the team. He was the strongest of the King's Lords and he was also the most observant.

Sweeping silently over the cobblestones, the Slayer's obsidian orbs scanned the morose buildings to either side of him, searching for life and finding the flat landscape of a dilapidated town. This place was the product of industrial waste, the choking remains of a time long forgotten and outdated. In a twisted way, it reminded Severus of Spinner's End. Hell, he was sure if he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he'd find his way to the smokestack in the distance. He'd always been so adept at that as a child.

* * *

The third checkpoint passed without fail and he began to think this entire venture was a mindless waste of his time. Stroking his unsheathed wand and wondering if he could hex Crabbe from here without detection, Severus frowned when he saw the front pallet move. It wasn't much, a little breeze and the edge of a lid dislodged itself, but it was too...natural to be so. When things like random winds hit things, it didn't hit just one object. When the corner had lifted Fulson had not been touched by any shift in the atmosphere around him. His clothing did not flutter and no kiss of the wind brushed his face.

Stepping by the oblivious Martis, he made his way to the front pallet, eyes shooting from one side to another. A couple yards up from where they now stood was the official that would send this cache to storage. The thin, crow-like man was busy flipping through his clipboard of the inventory, too absorbed to notice anything was amiss. Severus met Rodolphus' eyes even though the other man could not actually see them and the Lestrange man seemed to feel something was off.

Together, unknowing to the other Lord, they made their way nonchalantly to the affected pallet. When they looked down into the box, they saw that nothing was missing, not a vial moved. Nothing save the lid. Rodolphus replaced it and they both glanced around to assure everything was as it should be. Severus saw it first.

The last pallet, guarded by Martis, was half-gone and some things were still floating in invisible hands up to a place where it vanished into the thief's equally invisible bag. Rodolphus made a cry and the enchantments around the thief fell away. Standing with a bag slung around his shoulder and a cheeky grin on his face was a man all of twenty, perhaps twenty-two if he was lucky. Sporting short brown hair and jeans with a soft cotton shirt, he looked like an average muggle university student. Aside, of course, from the plain black half-mask that fit so well to his face it could have been his skin.

"Boy, halt in the name of the King!" Lestrange, coming around the first pallet with a scowl and his wand aloft, ordered with all the pompousness of a Lord.

Severus saw the young man quirk an eyebrow and spin on the spot, taking off on foot with a quick shout of, "Perse!".

At first it made no sense, then a woman with a hood pulled tight up around her head and a mask that matched came from the shadows and handed the boy another bag, one filled to the brim with supplies from the second pallet. No one had noticed anything gone from that one.

Severus took off after them as they disappeared around the nearest corner and Rodolphus caught him up from the other side, blocking them in. The woman saw the trap and threw something over the man, which caused him to vanish all over again. She bent down mid-run and picked up a rock, then flicked her wand at it. Glowing bright blue, the stone shook in her palm and she reached out for the man's hand.

They were going to Portkey out of here and with the supplies at that!

Severus threw himself forward from his slight jog and tackled the woman to the ground. She cried out from the blow and the rock flew up into the air between them almost as though in slow motion. The woman spun in his arms and screamed at the man, her voice piercing deeply into his nearest ear.

"Orpheus, go!"

With only his disembodied hand appearing in a way that Severus found vaguely familiar, the man caught the stone as it fell and he could almost see him evaporate as the Portkey took him away.

"Damn it!" Lestrange growled, kicking at the woman who was shoving herself away from the Slayer. "Her little boyfriend got away!"

Smirking and tugging the wand from the woman's fingers, Severus snapped it in two and dropped it to the ground. The woman gasped at his action and proceeded to slap him across the face. Barely moving more than an inch sideways, Severus righted his mask with his customary smirk and deftly secured the woman's hands behind her back.

"The man is of no importance, Lestrange." Severus assured, his smirk firmly in place but little glee behind it. "She was obviously the brains behind this thievery. The King wants a head...and he'll have one."

* * *

**A/N:** So I was wrong. _This_ will be the last chapter under my limit. Please review. Tickle2Kill.


	6. Undone

~*~Undone~*~

With her hands bound behind her back, and the rope tied around the steel chair she was propped up on, Hermione glared out from behind the supple black mask that fit like a second skin.

She had been bargained for like antique furniture between the Slayer and the Viper's Lord, two equally detestable hands gripping her tightly. Being the one who had tackled her to the ground, the Slayer declared ownership over her as his captive, causing the Viper's Lord to angrily refute his claim. It was settled fairly quickly as the Slayer talked his way around the other man's claim and ordered him to finish out his duty at once, making sure the supplies that were left reached their destination without further mishaps. He had then whisked her away from the street in front of St Mungo's to this lavish and completely unused home. There were thick ornate carpets laid out across the shining wood floor, delicately carved fleur-de-lis patterns in the stone mantle, knick-knacks that glimmered or books that called out invitations from their fresh leather covers.

In another time, she would have been amazed by the opulent environment around her, but all she could register was the fact that Dumbledore's murderer was rolling in Galleons and she saw what natural justice could do. It was as though he had benefited more from the former Headmaster's death than he ever did when the man was alive.

This bastard of misusing trust was before her, proud as a peacock, strutting from one corner of the room to another, his fathomless black irises focusing on her every so often. He wore lovely dragonhide boots with accents of silver Celtic knots and his clothing seemed to reek of favor. The black cloth and the silver buttons were lively and new-looking, not dull and careworn as she remembered it to be. His hair was still hanging in a lanky curtain to either side of his face, but even this gave off the air of refinement the Lords breathed.

He was like a polished mockery of the man who had once taught her Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. She could almost say this Slayer version of Severus Snape was a glossy magazine cover rendering of the former Professor, right off Witches Weekly. He turned back to her with a serious set to his shoulders and lifted his wand.

She felt the press of his mind to hers and gladly threw him back out of her head with a smirk of triumph. She couldn't keep this up forever. It was draining to constantly have to rebuke him without the presence of her wand, but she knew the consequences of failure. He seemed to growl at her and she yanked forward on her bonds with a snarl of invitation.

Sighing at his lack of patience, she watched as he stepped forward again and grabbed a handful of hair. It was much longer than years before and had settled into itself. The bushes were cascading waves now. The coloring was the same, but she wasn't sure if he had even cared to remember that much about the 'resident know-it-all'. She wondered if he even knew her anymore, if he noticed whom he had captured.

He brought his wand up to her face and flicked it at her mask, she imagined his frown digging deeper into his flesh when he realized it would not budge. She had found the spell a year ago and it had worked rather well. As far as she knew, only the caster could remove the mask and hers had been a product of Neville's wand, as his was a creation of hers. Neville would be safe at the refuge by now and the Order should have heard the tale of her capture. She would be safe...she hoped. Though Neville would be stuck with the mask for a while. It was a good thing the mask could breathe. This spell was in a dusty old book about masquerades from the least used shelves in the Hogwarts Library. It was one of the few that Madam Pince had smuggled them before this traitor had shut down the only connection they had.

Fiddling with the mask more and more, the Slayer smirked beneath his own and pushed her head back into the thinly-padded headrest.

"You should have chosen a mask without a secondary removal option. You will enjoy my home until I return, won't you?" Not waiting for a reply, he vanished around the nearest corner with a billow of his robes.

Hermione gazed at the spot where he had stood until she had to blink. At first she wanted to cry from frustration that this simple plan had gone pear-shaped, but she realized how childish that was and curbed the natural urges.

They had tried to prepare for these type of scenarios, but all she could think was that she had to turn into a bird. It was a random thought that went nowhere and none of her muscles responded to the image, but she chuckled at it with her own grim humor. She had never imagined that the one time the Slayer is out while she and Neville were doing grocery shopping she'd be snapped up in his maw and tied to a chair. It went against all her initial beliefs to recognize that this was not her imagination and that she was firmly planted in reality.

Something told her she wasn't going to make it back to the refuge and she let herself think of Harry for a brief second. She tried to tell him goodbye but she didn't have a scar on her head or a connection with him through evil means. All the response she received was the echo of her goodbye in her head, as though she were saying farewell to herself.

The thought chilled her, so the sudden sight of the Slayer coming back didn't balk her as it would have done before. He looked like death and she supposed it was fitting...but her hands still worked at the bonds in the good old-fashioned muggle way. Back and forth, twist then pull. It chafed her wrists and she found she didn't care. You could heal burns, you couldn't heal death.

* * *

The potion in his hand was pearly white and gave off a sparkly sheen. She would have thought it pretty if he was anyone else and she was safe in the refuge. Right now, the swirly colors looked like a sinister warning. Beauty goes before before the fall just as surely as pride, she wagered, and she worked her arms more, fiercely attempting to free herself.

Moving before her, his dark eyes focused on her brown ones, he unclasped his cloak and removed his gloves. He appeared smaller without the voluminous layers and she had the vague thought that he was handsome. Unable to fight it, Hermione burst out laughing. It exploded out from her mouth like a firecracker and she let it come. She was gasping for air from the effort of the guffaw, but it soon turned slightly hysterical and she choked back any upcoming giggles.

"It is a joy to hear such happiness in my home. Might I know the reason?" his voice was like silk across metal, mellifluous and dangerously tinged.

Meeting his eyes insolently, Hermione gave him a reckless smirk in an answer. She had a guess that if she spoke, he would know who she was. It was probably futile if the potion worked, but she had to fight regardless. Gryffindors didn't back down from a challenge. She was a Gryffindor through and through and Voldemort couldn't take that from her.

"Ah, silence now, but no matter. You will speak soon enough." Stepping forward with a malicious darkness in his eyes, the Slayer grasped her chin.

Hermione's eyes couldn't hold his gaze anymore and she shut them, pulling her head as far from his hands as she could. Her defiant action drew a chuckle from the man and he roughly yanked her head back to his preferred position. His long fingers tugged at her bottom lip, trying to open her mouth. She resisted, clenching her lips together and struggling backwards into the seat. Growling again, the Slayer pinched her nose and waited. She was blinking and her muscles were taut with the force of her need for oxygen. She gulped and tossed her head from side to side to dislodge his hand but he had a vice grip.

One second passed, then another, and she couldn't take it anymore. Her lips parted a small bit, her teeth tightly together in an attempt to keep the potion out, but he thrust his hand in and pushed down on her jaw, keeping it open. Hermione tried to bite down, but he had a strong arm and her action was for naught. She jerked against the chair, her feet pressing into the ground as she wriggled against the bonds, determined to keep the potion away from her.

He pushed onward, tipping the vial into her mouth and quickly forcing it shut. She tried to spit it back out, but he cupped his hand over her lips and pinched her nose again.

It tasted like oil and peppermint, pleasant enough, but she was disgusted by it. She fought once more, valiantly keeping her throat closed against the cool potion. He stared into her eyes and she grimaced when her lungs betrayed her, overriding her battle for air. The liquid going down was akin to a sign of weakness. Ducking her head into her chest, she fought the tides of defeat. She felt tears rise in her eyes and stubbornly banished them with a harsh blink.

"Let's see who you are." As his words registered in her ears, she felt a warmth radiating from under the mask.

It was like the feeling of hot rain, splashing and cascading in rivulets down her face. Again and again the rain hit her until she felt cleansed and new. After the feelings washed away with her only saving grace, Hermione proudly lifted her head from her chest and her hair fell to either side of her face, draping back over her shoulders.

* * *

He watched eagerly as the black mask turned grey, white, then clear and dissolved entirely. Severus was finally able to identify the feisty woman, this thief who was brave enough to steal from the Dark Lord.

At first, nothing registered.

He saw a woman around the same age as the man who got away with long locks of chestnut hair that curled and coiled around itself in a wild mane. Dressed in tight-fitting black muggle jeans and an equally tight maroon shirt, she caught the eye. She was built enough to be attractive, but not overly equipped in any department. Separately, her pert nose and soft pursed lips didn't stir any memories, but her defiantly shimmering chocolate eyes in conjunction with those assets and her thick halo of hair...it startled him to breathlessness.

It couldn't be, it wasn't possible. Not after all this time, not when he had given up. His lips moved and he heard himself speak much without his command.

"Miss Granger?" his voice was hoarse with disbelief.

After a split second of standing paralyzed, he stumbled forward, casting spell after spell to ensure it was not a false image.

He tried four different spells, recasted them, but the vision did not change. His concentration waned and his mask fell from his face, shattering like glass on the floor by her feet. Severus mechanically vanished the remnants and forced himself to breathe. The woman he realized was Hermione Granger jutted her chin out in a somewhat petulant pride, shaking his denial and his hands went numb.

He barely noticed the clatter of his wand on the wood by his boots as he came closer, reaching out for her face, determined to prove to himself it could not be. She glared at him as his hands found her neck and cheek respectively, crawling upwards until one hand was mired in her hair and the other was stroking her face. The facade didn't melt, didn't shimmer like a mirage and he felt his lungs shut down, so clogged was his throat. It was true, it was reality.

He wasn't mad...she wasn't an impostor. A mad laugh squeezed out of his mouth and he felt himself begin to shake. Severus advanced as close as he could get so quickly the woman flinched, but he simply laid his ear against her chest and listened. It took an eternity of a second, but the thump-thump of her powerful heart forged a burning path through his brain. It was like a million drums and they overcame him, throwing a beacon of blazing light on the shadows in his own heart.

He fell back, eyes closed, and began laughing wildly. Identical to the rush of adrenaline he received when he was spying before the fall, his whole body felt as light as a feather and he couldn't keep still. Severus found his feet again, though they were unsteady beneath him. He was out of breath from laughing and his chest hurt from the work, but he couldn't stop.

All those endless days, searching before the hope was starved of oxygen and the days of wishing became ancient tales of when his heart would reach for stars too high. All those nights lying awake, daring to pray to gods he didn't believe in that the Light could live on in such defeat. Everything he had abandoned in despair of the rarity. Everyone he had given up for dead.

He had sworn that the Light could not be anymore and that all those with courage enough to stand against the new sovereign had perished in the pursuit of rebellion. Every ally he had ever had was dead in his mind, already lost to the world and the cause.

All those thoughts destroyed.

His eyes drank in the sight of this one woman, no longer a bushy-haired pupil and he fell back to his knees under the strain of the epiphany. By all the deities, against the stacked odds, in the face of all this destruction...she lived.

"Are there more of you?" He asked with a raspy voice. "Who else has survived?" he replaced his hands, cradling her head in his palms, and stared into her eyes with a pleading frown. For once, he didn't even have the thought of using Legilimency.

Granger didn't move to speak, her eyes were wide as saucers and she was gazing at him as though he were mad. He shook her slightly, crawling forward on his knees like an eager puppy, and found himself shivering with tears.

"Tell me!" he commanded desperately, blinking frantically against his blurry eyes. "Tell me who lives. Please!"

He would have never broken down in the past, but to feel his heart beating anew in his chest decimated his ever solid control. He could scarce believe he was able to contain this much hope after so long without it. Starved of substance for such a long space of time, forced to find nutrition from other means and driven to leech off of hatred and despair, he didn't know if he could stomach the taste of optimism.

Frustrated with her silence, Severus dropped his head into her collarbone and gasped for breath.

"I'll release you, just tell me who lives." he whispered into her hair, struggling to form words through the overwhelming wave of sorrow and joy and fear and confusion. So much at once, so many things to process. He was alive...he was finally alive.

* * *

His hands were holding her head and his own was in the crook of her neck. She felt warm tears splashing onto her skin and was unable to understand what was happening. He was the Slayer one second and when he had discovered who she was, he had fizzled out into this man of sorrow, barely able to stand. She tried to think of something witty to say, but nothing came to mind.

He lifted his face and his teary obsidian eyes met hers again, boring deeply into her soul. She couldn't face them anymore, not with the sorrow and the hope that invaded them now. It was easy to confront the arrogant Slayer but this version just made her uneasy. Would he attack her if she responded? Would this all turn out to be an act to get her to reveal her secrets? She wasn't sure if she should take advantage of this weakness he revealed or shy away and clam up. Her mind was flying over all the possibilities and she suddenly remembered the bonds around her wrists.

She had stopped working at them when he dropped his mask. It had seemed like such an unplanned action and it had caught her off-guard. Swallowing her confusion, Hermione turned her eyes from his and stared resolutely at the wall. He gazed unblinking at her face for a moment before he reacted.

Crying out in what sounded like an animal's yelp of pain mixed with a man's deep timbre, his hand slammed into the headrest where she had previously been. The shock of it made her jump and she had to tense up to avoid another show of fear when he repeated the action. He walked backwards from her and his hands went up to his own head, shaking back and forth. She heard a choked sob and when she dared sneak a peek, he was glaring at her with hard black eyes.

"Do you not want to be free?" His voice was not as frightening as it had been before, when he was the epitome of his Death Eater persona, but it had that dangerous tinge to it again.

Hermione avoided his eyes and he came back to her, fathomless orbs gazing at her in accusation and in anguish, his cheeks still wet with the result of his emotions. His curtains of black hair swung as he tilted his head to find her eyes, the ones she kept locked on the wall. The silence in the room was only broken by the hissing of the dancing fire, its tongues tasting the air about it and merrily crunching on the wood for fuel.

She let the flames mesmerize her and her ears pricked when he lifted his wand. The first thought that went through her mind was that he was going to curse her and try once more to read the thoughts from her mind. The act was over, the play concluded and his charade was without an encore. He grew tired of her reluctance to part with her knowledge and since his ploy had failed, he would stoop to other forms of extraction.

But when he waved his wand the bonds around her wrists slackened then fell and were vanished from sight and touch before they could make a thump. Her arms slid back to her sides lifelessly and she let them hang. If she could comprehend anything that was happening around her, she would have tried to make a daring escape, but she just sat there. Her eyes glanced down at her hands and she frowned, scared at this bizarre occurrence.

Her mind was scrambling about for some form of explanation, some way to reason out the events. Nothing made sense to her and that frightened her more than the idea of being cursed. Her lively brown eyes ventured upwards until they were even with her captor's obsidian ones. He stared at her for a moment, then sheathed his wand and turned his back to her.

"Well? Go." he ordered, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Hermione slowly stood, her hands gently massaging her abused wrists as she warily watched the man before her. All her muscles were screaming at her to run, to take this chance and get as far away as she could, but she remained frozen. She couldn't understand her own actions, or his for that matter.

"What will happen if I run?" she asked, her eyes watching for any change in his stance. He turned his head slightly and he scrutinized her from over his shoulder.

"Nothing. I'm letting you go. The wards are down and you can Apparate, if you wish. Be safe." his voice betrayed nothing and she grew more suspicious.

"I don't have a wand to Apparate. But, even then, why would you let me go? Wouldn't the King want to see me, to debase me in front of all his loyal followers?" She closed her eyes against her own words and sighed silently in exasperation.

Shifting around so that he faced her, he frowned and uncrossed his arms. "Is that what you want? I can always oblige."

Shaking her head, Hermione met his eyes. "Of course not. It's just...why would you let me go? After you..." She couldn't bring herself to utter the words broke down so she settled with letting it hang unfinished.

"I have no need of you. I can always bring the King some other girl and say it was the thief." he answered, his dark eyes focused on the fleur-de-lis on the mantle.

"Yes, you could, I suppose. But why? What would you gain from it?" She wanted to hex her tongue for its inability to stop moving. Was she actively trying to get herself killed subconsciously? Swallowing and standing by her own words, Hermione waited for his answer.

"I..." he cleared his throat and sighed. "I would have the knowledge that the Light still exists. It's enough."

Hermione, despite her better judgement, stepped nearer to the black-clad man and held his gaze steadily.

"Are you for the Order or the King?" she questioned, her eyes boring into his now in a similar fashion to what he had done previously.

It would have surprised her in the past if he had retreated from her as he was doing now, but she advanced every step he took backwards. She had seen a side of him she had never glimpsed before and something told her there was a rare few who ever had. The man who had collapsed in front of her was not a man who was fully of the dark. There were some things you couldn't fake, she firmly believed now, and his breakdown was one of those things.

* * *

Her words radiated in his head and he felt compelled to look her in the eye when he answered. It made him think he was being more sincere if he at least gave her his undivided attention. The possibility of her believing him was slim to none, he knew, but he was hoping that she would give him the benefit of the doubt.

"I was and always will be for the Order."

Nodding and glancing at the fire, the woman before him pursed her lips in thought. When she began to inquire again, she spoke her question into the flames.

"But you killed Dumbledore, you aided the Dark Lord." It wasn't her way of asking him if he did or didn't, it was said as a statement of fact.

He had accused himself more times than he could count and hearing it from her lips wasn't any different. The weight hit his chest and dampened his joyous mood. He grew irritated at the reminder of the crimes he relived every waking moment. It wasn't as though she had to face what he did, yet she pointed fingers and blamed and exiled as surely as the rest of the Light had.

"The old fool made me swear and I was always destined to become the perfect Death Eater. Who else could be trusted?" his voice was biting and he glared at Granger with his own self-loathing and pain.

"Not you!" she screeched, her frame rigid with self-righteous anger. "I trusted you as fiercely as Harry hated you and you proved him right in the end. I always defended you at every turn, berating the boys when they insulted you, refusing to believe their words! But they had the right of it all along! You were never good."

Something in her words stirred anger, hatred, and insecurity all at once. He advanced on her, his hands out in angered entreaty, his jaw ticking with the effort not to yell at her. His voice grew darker, deeper and quieter as he spoke.

"Good? Good?! Was Albus good when he forced me into an oath to kill him for the soul of a misled teenager? Was he good to box us all into our roles so that when it came time to play the martyr we had no choice but to place our heads on the guillotine? All for the greater good and the chess game between him and the Dark Lord. You haven't had to face an inch of what I've lived through. Don't you lecture me on being good, you naive little girl!"

He saw the signs of her indignation and knew what was coming before it even happened. He had the quick thought that he was becoming a seer to rival Trelawney's best days.

"I'm not a little girl, if you haven't noticed!" She made a vague gesture at her body and kept on. "Besides that, I wasn't the one who leapt at the chance to further the Dark Lord's cause! I stood and fought with the rest of the Light and I didn't back down from him. You did, you gave in and you watched us fall!"

"What would you have had me do? Step out and be killed in a foolish attempt to seem united? My task was to be the Death Eater, not the traitor who rushed out to prove his goodness. I was a better use on his side than if I showed my true colors and ran to help the Light." his voice was a growl and he noticed they were inches from each other. He used his height to intimidate her and she seemed to grow even more incensed by the act.

"You could have helped us! You could have found a way. All you did was stand there and let us be destroyed." She was glaring at him and he glared right back.

"I was hated by the Order, if you recall. Albus made me vow so that Draco would be spared the act that the Dark Lord commanded and told no one. Did you never wonder after his hand? It was killing him long before I got to him. What was I to do? Reveal myself to Moody and be hung without a trial or remain where I was meant to be in Albus' grand plan?" She faltered as she went to speak and he pressed. "I didn't have a choice. I was across the board before the Dark Lord lifted a finger to place me. The only thing that went wrong was Potter. He wasn't meant to die."

A shade of knowledge flickered over her eyes and vanished the next second, catching his attention.

"Potter isn't dead?" he deduced as much from the guilty twitch that she gave when he narrowed his eyes. "He lives as well? Who else?" Somehow it returned to where it had begun, back to his first real inquiry.

She had the nerve to look away and he nearly reached for her when she answered. "Nearly everyone. But I can't tell you more than that, I've sworn."

"Where are you hiding? How did you survive?" He was desperate for anything, everything. He needed to know what was happening on the secret underbelly. This was the basis of all his hope. Everything he had dreamed would exist in the beginning, before the possibility had diminished to nothing.

Granger shook her head, folding her hands over each other in front of her. "I swore. I literally can't say more. But we survived as any creature that is determined not to die. It was hard and it took a lot of effort, but here we are."

Severus stood for a moment, thinking a million things and marvelling at the sudden absence of his anger. She didn't seem to be flustered as she was before either. Taking in her wild hair, her defiant chocolate eyes and the soft pucker of her lips, he found himself overcome with the urge to hug her. He shook his head and crossed his arms to combat the silly notion. When he looked up at her, she was staring at him with curious regard and he sniffed.

"I'm glad you survived, Miss Granger."

The comment brought a gentle smile to her face and his lips curved up minutely in response.

* * *

He took her to a room he had ignored long ago, when he was first gifted with this manor. All he could make out of the pomp and circumstance about him then was that he had truly and finally been defeated. Nothing could be more certain in his mind back then. The rooms had all been pretty and suffocating in their liveliness. The last thing he needed was life. All he could see waking or dreaming, was Dumbledore's face as he said his name, pleadingly, desperately, begging him to do the one thing he was sure he couldn't do.

And yet, despite his adamant and unyielding protests, his wand had flicked, the words had left his lips and a part of him slipped away from him like fish through a spring. Dead eyes, painfully beatific dead eyes, relieved in the freedom as they consigned him to bondage, stared at him in joyous bafflement. Always wondering why he couldn't understand how wonderful it was. How beautiful his action had been...and how necessary. Entering this room was like a thousand tiny daggers piercing his heart as it all flooded back.

He had sacrificed so much to keep Dumbledore's master plan intact...so much he couldn't ever get back. For a scant second, Severus lingered in this slightly dusty room and stared like a struck deer at the bed. When he had run out of excuses to avoid his own grief, he had stumbled around the house he had denied, exploring the foreign spaces as though they could explain why his heart hurt when he breathed. As his legs began to abandon him he had fallen into this very room and only because he could hear birds outside did he make it to the bed.

But the bed was his only goal. Once he leaned against it and gazed outside, he saw a wondrous sight, hovering three feet back from the window. Just as gorgeous as he had been in his prime, flapping his wings just enough to stay within sight, was a singing Fawkes. At first he could not hear the singing, but then it broke into his body, his mind, his heart, his soul...he couldn't escape the sorrow, the pain and it all became too much.

He gave up trying to fight it and he shattered into so many pieces, it felt as though he had died.

And just like then, he hit the ground, his new-found joy demolished as he remembered everything so crystal clear it broke his heart all over again. But now he was too open, bared like a raw nerve to the open air, and he could not fight the waves of memory he had tried to forget.

Oh, Merlin...I can't breathe.

Hands, so beautiful and soft tugged him to standing, and they made to let go. Terribly frightened of such an action, Severus spun and engulfed the thing, burying his head in its mane. It smelled of fruit.

"Please," he begged the wild animal, clutching it desperately. "Don't let me drown. Don't let me drown." and he shuddered as he began to weep.

* * *

What did I do? she wondered, bewildered as her former Professor and the Slayer himself clung to her in such despair, curling into himself. This breakdown was nothing like the first...it wasn't joy, it was agony. Hermione laid her arms protectively about the man before her and tried to keep him still. He shook as though he were freezing and every part of her wanted to ease it, wanted to help him so much.

"What have we done?" she asked the air and he surfaced, his endless black eyes curious.

"We?" he said the word like it was a confusing problem. "I did this. I killed him, I murdered him. All of this is my fault. All the way to the beginning...I told the Dark Lord about the prophecy, I killed Dumbledore. I've done this...I've done this all."

She pulled him nearer to her and he held her like some lost child, frightened and seeking. She wanted to say his name, but she didn't know which one. Slayer was too uncaring, especially now. Professor was inaccurate, which wasn't really a big thing, but still. Snape was impersonal, but Severus was far too personal. She changed tack immediately and simply didn't say his name.

"Is this...is this room...?" she wasn't sure what to say, but he answered a question she never asked.

"Fawkes came to me...he sang one last time...vanished...like smoke." He fell quiet and gripped her so tight she was short of breath, then, as though suddenly waking up, he stood and brought her to her feet. "I must...I must keep you safe."

And he was gone.

* * *

**A/N:** Hope it stayed in character, because I really did try. Let my know how it came across. Much more to come! Tickle2Kill. P.S. Thank you to all that have reviewed. It means a lot.


	7. Clones

~*~Clones~*~

The King waited for no one and Severus was not an exception. At exactly two-fifteen in the afternoon, when his sitting room was lit up by the brightness of the sun, his Dark Mark flared with an angry red tinge and he clenched his jaw to remain silent.

"You can't go back to your haven until I have cleared your existence. Rodolphus saw you, he knows you came with me. I have to give the Dark Lord a head or we'll both be targeted. We have no choice." he continued, coming to stand on the other side of the fuming brunette, his left hand in a fist behind his back. It had been so long since he had felt it so acutely. Miss Granger appeared to be somewhat of a time-turner to his state of mind.

"I can't let you sacrifice a squib for me. It's not right!" she replied, her will unflinching under his words as she stared at the unconscious woman before them. It seemed his lapses of late did not affect her ability to argue for people's fates. He was glad, he couldn't have her seeing him in some semi-romantic pity all the time. He did feel lighter though.

"What do you want me to do? Drag you to the King and declare to all and sundry that the rebellion is alive and well?"

They had been arguing over this for a while now, longer than he deemed necessary, but the Gryffindor bleeding heart would not stop. Severus supposed he should have expected as much from the girl who wanted wages for house elves, but he found himself hoping the brilliant eleven year old that solved his riddle would show herself to still be present inside this world-weary and war-hardened witch.

The woman before them was a criminal and a thief, both of which the Dark Lord had asked to be brought in to him. Goldie Amalat was guilty of filching supplies as well as Granger, and Severus had been lucky enough to know where she was hiding out. It was merely a matter of fooling the skittish woman to allow him inside her hideout. She was partnered with a proper wizard, who hadn't been in attendance at the moment of entry. Severus had had to silence her to cease her screeching for Wilbur.

Having ensconced Granger in the upstairs room, Severus quickly secured Goldie and after the woman's banshee-like screaming had alerted her to his return, the Gryffindor woman had rushed downstairs to rejoin him. Upon seeing the trussed-up woman in the chair she had first occupied, their argument began.

"There must be another way! I can't let you do this." Her continued pleading sent a tick through his jaw as he clenched his teeth and looked away.

"Fine. If this will not suit you, come up with a better option." he offered, raising his eyes to meet hers and holding his breath as his mark blazed firmly against his skin. He could not postpone much longer.

Something must have flickered across his face because her tawny eyes drifted down to his half-hidden arm and then she frowned at him with pursed lips. For a split second, he was sure she was about to step towards him.

"Are you being summoned?" Her voice held a tone he found bizarrely familiar. Was she reprimanding him for not telling her?

"It is not of your concern, I asked for a better option." He hardened his face against the burn and her question, but she was stubborn.

"If he's calling, why haven't you gone? You could be punished."

It would have made him sneer before to hear those words from someone who actually meant them for the care they were, but it lightened his chest to hear them now. It had been a long time since someone had genuinely worried after him. Albus had been the one...well, even McGonagall had been there to wonder if he was alright. But that had all faded with the fall.

"What does it matter?" he asked, a force of habit to deny care even when he had already accepted it.

"It matters if you get punished! You're the only one on the inside, the only one of the Light still alive in his court. If you fall we won't be able to ever vanquish him." She stepped closer to him and he felt the weight settle back on his chest.

Of course that was why there was concern. Why would anyone care if he was actually a person and not a pawn between the deserting white and the impenetrable black? They would cast him aside if he wasn't useful, what would it matter then? A scowl formed on his face and he drew his wand, righting his clothing and equipping his mask. Forget other options, he'd made up his mind.

"Step back." he ordered, flicking his wand at the woman and she was suddenly in the same attire as Granger.

The red shirt and the black pants didn't quite look as appealing on this woman, but he really didn't care. He waved his wand in an arc and muttered a quick spell which removed the bonds from the chair but tightened them around her limbs. He could sense his companion bristling as she realized what was happening, but he reached down and tugged the unconscious woman to him. With her weight hanging slightly on his arm, Severus spun on the spot and Apparated away.

* * *

The Dark Lord had been borrowing or commandeering homes throughout the time he was setting up his takeover, but after the battle turned and he became the King, he had built, from the ground up, his own home. There was so much magic weaved into the very wood and stone that the whole area hummed with the power of it. No one would be able to take this place while the King lived.

It wasn't the size of Malfoy Manor or quite as broodingly dark as the Lestrange's but it had its own charm. Severus would admit it only to himself, but he preferred this home to his own or any of the richly-inherited Pureblood residences. The grounds were decked out with beautiful flowers and a winding garden path laid out in flat smooth white stones. There was a misconception among the Light that all of the Dark must live in the dark, but he found the King's home more colorful and inviting than any he had seen. Their King was subtle in his furnishings in the spacious rooms and large-paned windows with vaulted wood ceilings that gave off the opulence of a king's manor adorned the entire complex. The wood floors were adorned with beautifully decorated Persian carpets and mahogany desks or plumply cushioned chairs with emerald green velvet fabric.

The King was seated at his self-created throne, which was in the rather large ballroom in the east wing. The seat was high-backed, crystallized dark silver, gleaming and catching the light like no jewel ever made. Decorated all along its edges with twisting, turning serpents, and shimmering eyes of rubies, emeralds, sapphires and canary diamonds, it was a sight to behold. Nagini was granted a special groove up the front of the left arm of the throne, with which she could slither up to her master's shoulders. She was nowhere in sight.

The ballroom itself was as spacious as the rest of the manor, though more so. It had sparkling floors of polished dark wood and ivory-gold walls with accents of amethyst in the way of thick satin drapes that were tied to either side of the three balcony doors. Today, the sun shone like a torch onto the reflective surface of the floor and cast a beam of light across the King's pale face.

This ballroom was used annually as the setting for the Triumph Ball, the yearly celebration of the Light's defeat. One was upcoming in a few months time, always a spot for the play-makers in this game of fools. No doubt there would be a collage of wedding invitations afterwards, all for money and status and a buggering waste of his time.

Severus advanced to the center of the semi-circle of his brethren fanned out before the King. The cat-like eyes of their sovereign gazed out serenely past the few in his presence as they met the Slayer's.

"Ah, Severus. Come at last, I see. Any particular reason for the delay?" His voice was ice cold and deathly, sending a tingle down his spine. Severus hadn't felt the fear in so long and it made him falter.

He looked at the floor before he could stop himself and he could almost feel the King's eyes narrow. Calming himself, Severus raised his head again and met the man's ruby orbs as he had these past four years; straight, fearless, obedient.

"She was an unruly captive, your highness. Her mask was spell-based and caster-removed. I, however, found the loophole of a backup potion and administered it. I was forced to relieve her of consciousness before I could answer your call, my king, I apologize." Severus found many faults in his own voice and grit his teeth against the ice that radiated from around him.

Murderers, rapists and betrayers all. The frost of hell came from within them.

"Hm, interesting. I have never known you to struggle with a prisoner before. Perhaps the strain of being Headmaster has become too much?" the king replied, pressing two long white fingers against his lipless mouth.

Meeting the man's eyes with a flat, lifeless stare, Severus ignored the jitters from his so-called brethren.

"It was not all this woman, my king. Frankly, I would welcome students with brains behind their new robes and Galleons. How is one to teach those who do not wish to learn?"

Chuckling lightly and sitting forward, the sovereign gazed deeply into Severus' onyx eyes, dazzling, charming and enrapturing. As he fell into the small contest, letting himself be looked through, there were images suddenly flying past his mind's eye.

_A cold morning, his hair sparkling with dew as he watched the supplies. The lifting of the flap, his advance with Rodolphus. The man quirking a brow, running. Chasing the two down the alley, the vanishing of the man, bargaining over the woman. His gift home, the woman tied to the chair, screaming for Wilbur. Administering the potion, watching the mask fade, this woman's face revealed. Her yelling, spelling her to unconsciousness. A lull before the Mark flared, looking up the stairs, a soft smile to his lips._

Severus jerked, suddenly knowing what it felt like to want to hide something again. Intrigued by this show of defiance, the King switched gears and charged after that hidden thought with fervor. The chase was on and the pressure became a great weight on his brain. The red-eyed fiend was forcing his magic into Severus' mind. The Slayer became frantic, knowing he couldn't keep this up if he wished to remain unscathed. Anger conveyed easily as the elusive thought escaped the sovereign. He would be punished, this was disregarding his duty. This was very dangerous. Seeing the end of the road, Severus finally let the hidden thought be shown.

_A woman with long, curly chestnut hair sits on the edge of a soft bed. He enters the room and she peers up at him with shining emerald eyes. A small smile grows on her lips and he moves toward her, closing the door._

Severus was suddenly alone in his own head and he took a breath before meeting the King's eyes again. His mind had conjured a memory that didn't exist and it had got most of it wrong. Granger didn't have emerald eyes. He forced himself to be subservient.

"Well, well. Keeping secrets now, are we, Severus? When did you find the fortune to secure her?" The icy voice was tainted with curious mirth at the unforeseen thought.

Surprised that he wasn't immediately Crucio'ed, Severus cleared his throat before he spoke. "She found me, your highness. It was...last fall," He had to be quick and he could not falter. "When that boy Damasca fell to his death in a Quidditch game. She is the boy's older sister."

Thinking behind those bloody eyes, the king frowned. "This long and you have not spoke a word of it? I am disappointed in you, Slayer."

The beasts around him waited for a moment to strike, to unleash their hatred on his flesh for the excitement it granted their veins. He eyed them out of the corner of his eye, but otherwise gave them little more than a passing thought. There was only one beast in this room he need fear and it was best if he did not show any.

"My apologies, my king. I did not deem it worthy of your notice. If I had known..." He felt the hand that raised to silence him before he actually saw it and closed his mouth on any further words.

"Enough. You will bring her to the Yule Ball and all shall be forgiven. I do hope she is a sight better than your last paltry affair. What was her name again?" Feigning a moment of confusion, the king quipped, "Ah, yes. Lily Evans Potter."

Laughter hung from the rafters, _and the makers with it_, he growled within his head. Affecting a nonchalant and completely unfazed reaction, Severus met the fiend's eyes once more and chuckled along with the demons of this stylish hellhole.

"I assure you, my king, she is much better. Smarter, prettier and more apt to follow you than the shadows of that thrice-damned Dumbledore." He was sure the last part wasn't true, but he felt himself damning Albus again and again for the part that was.

The room bristled at the sound of that name after so long, but the haughty leader before them chuckled and clapped. "Good. I wish to see her beside you at the Ball. Give Wormtail the woman and return to your...paramour."

Skittering out of the nothing that was the back of the throne, Wormtail relieved Severus of his burden and scurried off again without a backwards glance.

* * *

He wasn't exactly sure what was going through his mind as he Apparated back to his manor home and stepped towards the liquor cabinet. His movements felt jerky and waterlogged, almost as though he were swimming in molasses. He didn't notice anything or anyone until he'd poured and downed two wine glasses of Firewhisky. When his throat was burning and his head was pounding from the lack of quality air, he spun and inexplicably found his preferred chair.

A voice worked its way through the encumbered air around his ears and he lazily turned his head to see the speaker.

Dressed in a long black shirt and pants that she must have taken from a closet somewhere, she was standing by the entry into the large sitting room, her hands pressed against the side panel delicately. As she nervously licked her lips, they glistened momentarily and caught his eye. He saw the darkest parts of her tawny eyes flicker with worry.

"Sir, are you alright?"

Groaning and closing his eyes, Severus turned away and sunk further down in the cushions so he could lay his heavy head on the back of the chair. He felt notably petulant and completely exhausted. Why on earth did caring feel more draining than his blatant despondency? He let himself turn to jelly in the chair and sighed.

"I thank you for the care, Miss Granger, but I do not require it." He felt his lips move but the sound was delayed and his hair fell to his cheeks, eliciting a muffled snort from him.

Suddenly she was before him and soft hands pressed into his shoulders, he shuddered at the contact. "Are you alright, sir? You don't look well. Did...was it quick?" Her voice was quiet and yet loud all at once.

Shifting to his left and lifting a lead arm to block his eyes, Severus pulled his legs closer to the chair and bumped into hers. He stilled his movements and cracked open one eye behind the shield of his forearm.

"Just go back up to the room and rest, we'll talk tomorrow."

He felt her maneuver past him, her soft scent wafting up to his sensitive nose and she lifted her hand from his shoulder. She leaned down to his ear, gentle and soft. He felt her breath on his face.

"You're as bad as Ron. I'll let you brood, but at least be sober when you say we'll talk." She spoke to him gently and he nodded reluctantly. "I'm locking the cabinet, so don't get the urge to unlock it. I don't have a wand, remember?"

He did, but only partially. He was way too tired to really think about...oh, yes. He remembered now. He was surprised she didn't attack him and claw his eyes out for the atrocity.

"I've broken your wand. I am truly sorry." he tried to infuse his voice with the sincere regret he felt and he was sure it succeeded.

A small smile came to her face again and he watched her latch the cabinet, pirouetting almost to glance back at him.

"I didn't have one before I got my letter and I did fine...It's not so bad to be kind of muggle again."

Something in her eyes made him pause and he wondered what she was thinking. He had been so caught up with himself since she appeared that he never really stopped to imagine what she had been through since the fall. Part of him wondered if he should ask, but her face was already closed off as though she had recognized her own melancholy and sought to hide it. She had forgiven him quicker than anyone he had ever had to convince and she was almost kind in her treatment of him, like a muggle vet with an injured dog. It made him feel like laughing and he silently groaned again at the rush of blood to his head.

"Good night, Professor." her voice was somehow far away again and he lifted up slightly to look over his shoulder at her retreating form.

"I'm not a Professor anymore, stop calling me that." he protested, coiling back into the seat.

"Oh," she began, fading off into the dark beyond the living room. "I didn't know you liked being called the Slayer, forgive me. Good night, Slayer."

He raised again to protest but she was already gone.

* * *

"WHAT?!" echoed across the dining room as his announcement sank in.

He'd been expecting an outburst, but his ears couldn't withstand the level of screech she attained. He buried his head in his arms on the table and grunted as an affirmative. He hadn't been able to stay away from the liquor cabinet and he'd downed the first bottle before losing equilibrium on opening the second and decided it was time to pack it in. His brooding lasted as long as his consciousness and when he woke to the rays of the sun, he had forgotten what he was so fussy over to begin with.

A quick hangover potion had done the trick but he still felt an aversion to loud noises or bright lights of any kind. He had always been that way, but alcohol simply enhanced the dislike.

This conversation had begun when he fielded the questions about Goldie and what had happened to her. His response had simply been, "Whatever the King wishes.". It had taken a very long time for her to do anything but glare at him. He wondered if she would eventually realize there was nothing to be done for it. He had watched countless amounts of people fall out of necessity. He had been the hand that fell them more often than not.

Thanks to the benefit of being granted house elves, breakfast was laid out before them with jams, butter, even orange and pumpkin juice. The sausage still sizzled, the bacon was crisp and flavorful, the eggs steamed and the bread was soft and delectable.

He only wished it was palatable at the moment.

"What do you mean you let him see me? What...what kind of plan was that?!"

Shaking his head, he glared up at her with his black eyes. Severus sighed with annoyance. "He would have found you anyway...he was relentless. I couldn't stop him, so I gave him what he wanted to see...a woman." He omitted the fact that it had been his lapse that had caused him to see anything other than a thief woman being interrogated. "He took to the idea that someone finally caught my eye after..." Hesitating, he looked away. "At any rate, it's done. You'll have to come with me to the Yule Ball."

"But...but..." she sputtered, wringing her hands together and standing from the table. Her napkin fell to the floor from her lap, fluttering like a feather to the ground behind her. "I can't stand in front of him. I can't pretend to be his new female groupie...I can't do that to Harry."

"You say can't, a lot. Besides, you would be doing this for Potter. How better to help the Order than from the inside? You said yourself I was the difference between winning or losing. How about you even the odds?"

He wished he had a camera handy or some way to capture the look on her face as he spun her own words against her. Wrapped in a black, fluffy dressing gown that he had transfigured, she was like a clucking bird-of-prey standing at the end of the long dining table. Scooping some sausage and egg into his plate, Severus watched her fight for words. Her incommunicable point was stuck like rock in her chest and she glanced at his amused face before huffing and sitting back down.

"I...what am I supposed to do or be or..?" She sipped from her orange juice, then took one heaving breath to calm down. Once she had deflated and thought more clearly, she began to bite her lip. "What does he expect? Who am I supposed to be?"

Severus understood her point and downed his pumpkin juice before speaking. "I told him you were the elder sister to a young boy who fell to his death last fall in a Quidditch game. No one was quick enough to stop his descent and he broke his neck on impact. There was nothing to do."

"That's dreadful!" she groaned, looking on the verge of tears over it. He went to berate her for it, but she continued. "Did he even have a sister?" she asked him, curling her fork in the feathery light eggs before bringing it to her mouth. He blinked and looked away from the sight when a rush went up his chest.

"Not that I know of, but his family was always secretive and hidden. The fact that he came to Hogwarts at all is a precedence. The Damascas usually don't fare well in luck, most have died in freak accidents or slight missteps. They destroyed records of their own family out of spite to some of the more shadier members who offended them in one way or another. There is no way for anyone to prove you are or aren't a Damasca." he refilled his plate and dug in hungrily, wanting to finish eating and get back to work. He'd been on and off the past day or so and he was sure the school would be cinders and ash by the time he returned.

"Okay. Any other information about impending doom I need to know?" she asked, pushing her plate away and crossing her arms tightly.

"Well, he did get the impression that we were together." he added his fingers in a quoting gesture and went to scoop some eggs onto his fork.

With less than a whistle as a warning, a hand came out of the blue and his head almost whipped around completely on his shoulders. He was quite sure he'd never been slapped so hard by one human being in his entire life. He wondered how much his spy senses had atrophied since the fall. Four years ago he would have at least noticed her hand rearing back. Now he stared in abstract shock as the pain bloomed across his cheek.

"Oh." She gasped and suddenly seemed frightened. He realized belatedly that she didn't have a wand. He held up his hands and she flinched back. After a moment to digest the rush of both shame and sorrow that defensive action caused, he spoke.

"Next time, I'll dodge."

Miss Granger had never laughed in his presence unless he including the dying strains he overheard from inside his classroom. He hoped he heard it again before all this madness was over.

* * *

**A/N: **I uploaded this from my IPhone, so let me know if there is anything off. Sorry I didn't post yesterday. My weekends are a frenzy of activity. Please review. Tickle2Kill.


	8. Don't Panic

~*~Don't Panic~*~

Ron had seen Neville come back from the corner of his eye in the scrying mirror on the wall inside their Grimmauld Place. It was a relief, as anytime someone went out there was a sizable chance that they would not come back. He stood from his half-finished report on the Snatcher group they had tracked and headed out to greet his friends. He remembered a time exactly like this one when Neville was caught by the owner of a workshop miles from here and Hermione had carried him into the refuge with his blood all over her white shirt. She wore black and red out now, she told him, so any blood she came back with wouldn't scare the children. She had been wearing red this morning. He crossed Ariana Road to catch up Hestia as she went to let Neville in.

"Did you see Hermione?" He asked her, since he had been too preoccupied to look for her. Neville always came in first.

"She was probably securing the Nest. Every time they Portkey back there is a bit of time when they could be followed. Can't be too careful." Hestia vanished up the dark passageway and Ron stared without blinking into the blackness until he saw Hestia return. Her face was pale and she hurried past him towards the Auror sleeping quarters a short walk from Grimmauld. Moody worked best at night.

Neville came in a second later, Harry's invisibility cloak draped over one arm, his mask in place and both packs slung over his shoulders. He froze in the entrance way of the refuge as he caught Ron's eye and it was all too clear.

"Where's Hermione, Neville?" His voice was ice.

"The Slayer...he was there, Lestrange came up from the other side...she got me out."

Ron didn't realize he was shaking Neville and screaming, "How could you let this happen?", until Moody smacked him on the shoulder with his walking stick and he fell away with a sob.

"You aren't going to find out by tossing him about, Weasley. Longbottom, to the briefing room with you; I'll call the group. Weasley, go fetch your mother, she should know now or else I won't hear the end of it." Moody turned and started off for the headquarters where a special book made by Hermione to mimic the coins from their fifth year was located. Everyone who lived in the refuge had their name down and their name attached by magic to tiny pins that they always wore. When Moody tapped them with his wand, the pins alerted the wearers. It was a way to have a mark without being bound to it. He hoped Hermione still had hers.

Mungo's was before him almost as though it had sprung up out of the ground. He didn't recall heading that way or wanting to go that direction in the slightest. He ran into Ginny and his mother as he searched for something that was possibly dead in the Slayer's hands, just like Dumbledore and just like home. Hermione was always the one they went to when things got beyond them.

Every single year, she had been the one thing that kept them all together when it seemed they would fall apart. If Harry were the face, and he the brawn, then Hermione was undoubtedly the brain. He scarcely knew how to continue without her. She was the only reason he had survived Harry's coma. She was his beacon of hope. If the Slayer had gotten hold of her...there was no limit to what he would do to her. The girl who defied everything and still called him Sir or Professor, even after he made her cry. That girl was the real sigil of the rebellion. She was goodness and she was kind and she was those things still, despite losing her parents to separation, despite losing her best friend possibly for good, despite facing death every day. She was caring and selfless, humble and stalwart. She was the Light personified.

Fear overcame him just as suddenly as anger and he found himself both frightened and ready in a way that chilled him. There had been this cloud that the most tried of their number could see, like a sort of Dementor shroud above them, that would descend to remind them that they were the losing team in this long game. He had seen it a thousand times, just when something bad had happened to them.

Like when the system they had with Madam Pince in the Hogwarts library had been destroyed by the Slayer. He had felt the shroud the moment he and Bill had gone to retrieve their next delivery of books. They had been beset on all sides by a group of Snatchers and that was the last time they had seen or heard from Pince.

The reality that they were susceptible to death at any moment was not something he was new to. In the early months, they had all had to conclude that at any time they could fall for their cause. Each one of them had to take a moment to come to grips with it. He had, Hermione had, Neville had. They prepared for the day they were taken. But no training on earth could prepare him for the fear that was in his heart. The fear that out of all the Trio, he was the last left alive.

His mother must have understood the look on his face, most likely it was the look on her own face when her brothers fell, and she held him tight.

"What's happened?" She asked, her voice very near tears.

"Hermione...she's been taken." The arms became a vice. Ginny crossed her own, a coping mechanism he had seen in her since her first year and the diary. She pasted on a hard face, because everyone forgot about the ickle firstie that went down into the Chamber of Secrets and was nearly killed. It was yesterday's news and her everyday tragedy. She still woke up some nights in a cold sweat and he had to sing sappy lullabies or show her tricks with his wand that she used to like when she was younger to run the nightmares away.

"By whom?"

"The Slayer." The moment the truth left his mouth, he forced himself to herd them towards Grimmauld. A flock of people were going the same way, rushing as he was. He saw Remus in the distance looking around, relief blooming across his features as Tonks' pink head appeared in the swarm. Luna Lovegood was standing at the door watching people enter. Lavender saw Ron coming, she must have, because her arms replaced his mother's and he entered Grimmauld with a cloud of raspberry tea in his nose.

* * *

Severus had been so loyal these past years since he slew Dumbledore, and the coldness in his eyes was like a triumph to Voldemort. He had watched as the man struggled with his loyalty and fought to remain aloof from either influence, but finally the dark had succeeded in claiming him. He never had to wonder if the man was truly his or not. The proof was in the actions Severus had performed in his service and by his orders.

Were the choice his, he would have all his followers display such frigid countenance and loathing for love and for friendship...traits of the fools and the dead. But Voldemort was not a fool for naming them, he understood the workings of love, observed its subtle nuances and considered himself a scholar of sorts. Love was fairly simple in the end of it, it all came down to the spell.

He was born because of the spell of love, forged like a steel sword in the womb of misguided magic and desperate infatuation. He knew well from birth the effects of the helpless in love. Meek and easily crushed, these sufferers of the bitter torment that is affection clamored over themselves for justification through another's doting words and caresses. He had felt this sickness once or twice, consumed in the flame of the sweet destruction, but it was all the same in the end.

He had listened to the believers, regaling him with tales of their past loves, lost loves, hopes for future loves...but it all came back with the same cold reality in his mind. Love was nothing but a cancerous disease that fed the feeble and sustained the wavering masses that longed for something real to lean on. Like a crutch for the lame and a brain for the dumb. As pointless as dying, if he thought of it.

Was that not how proper love stories ended? Girl meets boy, boy falls for girl, girl falls for boy, tragedy, death. Over and over; Romeo and Juliet, Catherine and Heathcliff, Hero and Leander, Tristan and Isolde. Death was the future of love, and death was the weak-willed's way out.

Friendship was but the belated twin of love. Just as easily falsified and discarded, friendship was the means to an end that led only to betrayal and vengeance. Friends with money helped to elevate or destroy...depending on their mood. Friends with connections were the same. Friends with knowledge were useful until they crossed the line to friends who care and then they became as ruthless as the ones before it. Judas Iscariot, Brutus, Lancelot in a form. Eager to hug and to kiss but also to desert, to abandon, and to murder.

As Voldemort sent Nagini to find her own dinner and stood from his throne in the chillingly empty ballroom, he wondered if this woman would twist Severus' heart as Lily did. The red-haired woman had those same green eyes and a smile to warm any glacier, but she was a temptress and a liar in the end. She stole Severus' heart from his chest because he let her and she ran off with it for her Romeo, her Leander, her Tristan, her Heathcliff. The wretch that was James Potter and the farce that was their young love.

So much pomp and circumstance for some simple and base wish for vindication that you existed wholly to someone, that you were in their eyes...perfect.

He scoffed and swept past the whimpering Wormtail to the hall behind the west wall, turning into the corridor and setting a slow pace as he pondered over the news of this mysterious woman.

It appeared genuine, the feelings that echoed back from Severus' mind and into his own. It disgusted him to think this woman could claim him even in the lifeless state he had fallen into. All love conquers all and such. Sighing and casting glaring red eyes around for someone to torture while he thought things over, Voldemort sidled past the downstairs lounge and began to climb the stairs to his bedroom.

Sleep did not come as easily or as often as a normal man's to him, but he did not think it worthy of note. Sleep left him vulnerable and the surrender one had to offer to give in to the blackness of sleep...it was like giving in to death. He had worked too hard and for far too long to simply fade off into his mortal enemy without so much as a cat's meow in protest.

The night air sounded like a better option than the cold embrace of slumber and he pivoted mid-step to his library balcony. This would be a prime place to reason out this development.

Climbing the small carpeted ramp that eased into the height of the upper floor of his library, Voldemort steadily made his way past tapestries of Slytherin's line and even Gryffindor's and Hufflepuff's. The lovely blue of Ravenclaw remained absent as the line did not leave her daughter, Helena, and did not deserve a full-length cloth of greatness beside her more productive founders.

He had thought an heir would be a wise choice, but since death was not a thing he was planning to meet, the use of continuing a line he would not need dissolved before the idea truly formed.

He had supposed he would pair with some of the Pureblood women in his class during school, but they all proved too delicate and malleable to suit his rather specific tastes and he had dismissed the thought. It appeared twice more before he had refused it from lack of mates; once when he was thirty-five or so and had met a witty heiress that had seemed the coup, until he maneuvered her into her bedroom and found she was as easy and puppet-like as the rest of the women in the world.

Then there was Bellatrix.

Powerful, charming, devoted to him, he could think of no better choice. But while he watched her and played her, seeing if she would fall in the trap as all the others had, he was disappointed yet again. Then Bella had collapsed in Azkaban and had the audacity to return to him so flawed she was a splotch of failure on his pristine roster. Her and her mad husband, Rodolphus. Greedy, sycophantic lunatics. They had their place and their usefulness, though.

Why was it so simple to make these women fall for him and lose all their appeal in the process? Simpering blights of tear stains and wailing pleas...it was enough to make him wish for death.

No, an heir was the least of his worries now. For what woman would be powerful enough to stand beside him and resist the pull her sex could not defeat? He firmly believed no true woman existed.

The moon was nearly full and December was pacing itself to peter out like all the others before it, clearing the way for the fifth year of his reign. It was a savory taste in his mouth to speak of it and to know the Boy-Who-Died would not come to destroy it as he had so many times in the past. For the first time since he had won, Voldemort looked out over the dominion that he owned and breathed in the air that was by rights his to claim. All of this was his...all those years and triumphs and defeats. This was really his prize.

Pride was always something he contained and used when it suited him, but it was not overly apparent. Pride was the fall of many and he had seen to that himself before the Light was vanquished. Satisfaction was prominent in his chest now. He had suffered enough and worked enough to deserve this peace and this control.

His underlings obeyed him without fault, his enemies cowered and surrendered on sight. His world was richer than ever, his laws passed by Pius and the Ministry that answered to him. Jobs overflowed with employees and advances on all the things he had had to abandon in pursuit of the place that was rightfully his were being made. Slytherin was but an ancestor to nod to, he was the true legend.

Letting the still air absorb into his lungs, Voldemort leaned over the carved stone railing and glared at the small lake in the distance, shimmering the moon back at him. After a moment his mind turned back to Severus.

It would be all too simple to weed out the truth from this woman Severus was so distracted by. The green eyes were a focal point of his contemplation as they so resembled Lily's and, in effect, Potter's. If he were a man of signs and omens, he would surely see this woman as incoming destruction. But he had ceased to lay so much stock in visions and prophecies after Potter's demise. Why would he continue to believe in such nonsense when he had proved once and for all who was the better wizard?

It was not in his cards to be brought down by a woman or a poor boy with little in the way of sense. He was king now over all that he could see and no weaker sex or orphan boy was going to compromise that. Besides, the boy was dead and women were always easy things for him to manipulate. A word here, a caress there, working his way into their hearts and crushing them from within. He would test this affection until it either grew unbreakable...or found its end in truth.

After all, he couldn't allow his strongest to fall prey to the sickness he had avoided so well all his life. Lily had shown Severus the ways of love, hopefully this woman would either follow suit or become the second strongest asset to Voldemort's court. He would see, they all would.

* * *

Ron watched as Neville stood at Moody's urging and noticed he looked worse than anyone at the table, his black mask still on his face. Kingsley had put the cloak back in lock-down and the supplies were already being distributed. Ginny sat next to Ron and Lavender to his other side, his mother sat beside his father and her eyes were already red from crying. Bill had shook his head and Remus had sighed in that way he had, which was the same way he sighed when Sirius went through the Veil, when Dumbledore fell from the tower, when Harry fell too. It was the sigh of the third brother in that story, right before he slipped off the cloak and went to Death as an old friend.

"Everything was normal, just as it had been all the other times. H-hermione was first and she cleared one of the pallets before she let me take point. I'm always anchor, you know?" He came to a stop and forced himself to breathe. "Once I got started, I noticed Lestrange moving, but he's done that before. But he focused on me and cast something like Thieves' Downfall wordlessly, so my special disillusionment came down. I took off and Hermione was alongside me, suddenly she throws the cloak over me and picks up a rock. She made it a Portkey and we were going to be fine. Close call and everything. But the Slayer came out of nowhere and tackled her. She tossed me the Portkey and told me to go. Last I saw of her, the Slayer was pinning her down." He sat heavily and Moody put a hand on his shoulder.

Molly let out a sob and immediately left the room. Ron looked after her, detached.

"What are we going to do? If she reveals information..." Samantha spoke, rising to her feet. Tonks stood as well.

"Hermione would go to the grave first."

"Let us hope so."

Remus and Arthur joined them, each with a shout of, "No!". McGonagall, who had come down from their makeshift school and Flitwick, who was missing half his right leg from the journey to the refuge, cast in their thoughts.

"It isn't so simple. Severus-Slayer-what have you, he knows about our methods. He knows our ways. How do you think he caught her? Four years and we've only ever had close calls." McGonagall looked tired already and the day was only half done. "And the King set the Slayer upon that route for a reason. We've been careless!"

"Her vow should keep her safe." Flitwick muttered.

"But for how long?" Countered Moody with a shrewd eye.

It was so clear and so easy and he marveled that none of them saw it. He glanced around the room, at the wanted posters and the maps and the lists of things they needed and the list of people they had lost and the holes in the parchment where someone blasted away another name from the bottom of a never-ending hit list of Death Eaters. It was always numbers and figures and pieces of information. Ron was sick of it.

"We must save her." It left his lips as though from another man's tongue and the room grew quiet to let him speak. He opened his mouth to start and couldn't stop. "She's given so much for us. Sacrificed so much for us. Her parents, her home, her entire future, everything she ever wanted out of life. Hermione didn't do that just so we could reclaim the world and vanquish evil. She did it so all the children both in the refuge and out, could stand proud and strong and say they are muggleborn, half-blood, pureblood, muggle. She did it so they could tell their children stories, wonderful, terrible stories, of when freedom had left the world and only darkness remained and how a few stood against a many and did not surrender. She did it so that no child would have to be called less than worthy of their own destiny, their own power, their own soul. She did it for a little girl with buck teeth and a brain, who no one wanted to befriend. She did it for the stuttering boy who, though petrified, still stood against his friends. She did it for the poor boys in the compartment she was meant to find, one famous and one the sixth son. She did for the pureblood snobs and the half-blood princes. She did it so no one would ever have Mudblood carved into their arm to declare to the world that they were considered subhuman and expendable. She did it so Harry, so everyone, could have a chance at a normal life. If we don't stand for her, what do we stand for?"

Moody was silent and Ron lowered himself back into his seat. Ginny was crying with a smile and he looked away. He had no idea where that came from. Bill clapped him on the shoulder, Fred half-hugged him and George jostled him. Ron felt big and small at once.

"We have no idea where to start. She could be with the King as we speak." Moody sighed, gazing about the room. Ron had a sudden thought.

"Send the white. It's what we did when we started this place. If she's safe, she'll remember the code language."

Kingsley nodded, his weary face alight with hope. "I'll do it. Just like the old days." He pulled his wand and cast Expecto Patronum. His silvery lynx leaped upon the table and granted them a bow, then spun and vanished through the wall.

* * *

He had found little excitement in the morning and even less in the afternoon. It was three, going on four, and he was staring at Yaxley and Rodolphus as they waxed official and important. The men were both speaking of their jobs and slyly insulting the Slayer. Voldemort grew weary quickly of their cowardly shows of dislike; it was a child's play. If they truly had words for Severus, they could ask him for a duel and he would arrange it. Severus was one of his strongest duelers and would wipe the floor with them both before obediently resuming his place as Headmaster without so much as a displaced hair.

"Enough!" he commanded with a quiet intensity. Rarely did he have to raise his voice anymore, so well-rooted was his power. "Yaxley, get back to the Ministry and make sure Pius passes the amendments to the Maternity Law. I'll speak with Lestrange alone."

He watched as the man bowed to him and left the room, his dark green robes fluttering in a familiar way as he exited. Rolling his crimson eyes over to the only other occupant in the room, Voldemort stood. It brought a small smirk to his face as the man shrunk back noticeably.

"So, Rodolphus, what is this I hear about Severus?" Pausing for a moment as the other man searched for words, Voldemort paced before him. "Now, now...you were so quick to whisper your distaste to Yaxley. Is your king any less worthy?"

The Lestrange man glanced about in a way that pleased him in the lesser members, but simply annoyed him in the higher ranks. Severus was the perfect Death Eater; calm, alert, observant, loyal, and cruel when the situation dictated. He never questioned his King, he answered without fault and gave his opinion in a matter-of-fact way that made it simple to confer and strategise. The most treasured thing Voldemort could name of Severus was that he looked him straight in the eye when they spoke and, aside from yesterday with the woman, he had never guarded his mind since Dumbledore fell to his hand.

"He isn't loyal, my king. You saw him yesterday. When have you ever had to search his mind to find the answers you sought?" he asked, before promptly answering his own question. "Only when he worked for the Light! There are whispers, my king. Whispers that the Light is really the ones behind this thievery and every one before that, and that Snape is the one guiding them. He let that cretin get away with supplies and he has lacked as Headmaster ever since he began. Kill him, my king, before he kills you!"

The end of Rodolphus' words began with a scream of agony as Voldemort cast a silent Cruciatus. From the outside it would look as though the kneeling man had simply toppled over in pain, but one with an astute eye could see the pale length of a yew wand jutting out from Voldemort's relaxed arms. With his head tilted to the side and nary a flicker of emotion on his pallid face, he lazily removed the spell and resumed his pacing. The coolness of his action and the silence that followed sent a jolt of fear down Rodolphus' spine which Voldemort read like a book.

"Such wild accusations, Lestrange. How long have they been festering in your heart? I have told you the Light has gone out. Why do you seek to contradict me? It does not matter. Severus has shown nothing to prove that you have a basis for these thoughts." Before he could properly finish speaking, the other man spoke up once more. The tick that sent his jaw into focus went entirely unseen by the man. Perhaps so was the look in his ruby eyes.

"My king, he fools you! He was always a backstabber, he'll bring down your plans. My king, give me leave to kill him! I will gladly rid the world of that scum that dares call himself Slayer." the venom in his voice was pure in its potency, but undesired nonetheless.

Another small wave of his wand and a long cut appeared across Rodolphus' face, blood running in a thin stream as the skin separated. There was a hiss from the man as he clutched his face and Voldemort stepped to him, pressing his wand below his chin to lift his face into view. As he stared at the man, the sovereign grew furious at his refusal to adhere. He had long since had the need to reprimand his followers when it came to these types of things and the fact that it was Rodolphus sent a flame of disappointment through him. Such a shame for him to follow Bella in this hatred of Severus.

"Your manners must have abandoned you, Lestrange. I did not ask for you to speak. Would you wish for Bella to be the only Lestrange with a title?" he heard the icy tone of his own voice and the hiss that permeated the air.

Looking back down at the floor by their feet, the man shook his head. "No, my king. I merely wished to make aware..."

"The unfounded suspicions you harbor? There is no need. Severus hid nothing from me that was of a danger to anyone, save himself. Put this hate aside and go back to your duty." Turning his back in dismissal, Voldemort made to resume his seat when the other man found it within himself to speak yet again.

"What did he hide, my king?"

Blinking languidly and smirking with a sick triumph at this new opportunity to punish someone, Voldemort spun back to Rodolphus and his smirk grew darker in its humor.

"So presumptuous of you." Without hesitation, the man was writhing on the wood floor again, his legs straight and kicking, his back arched and the veins in his neck sticking out in a macabre way. Letting the spell linger for a moment, the red-eyed fiend sat himself in his throne and stroked Nagini as she coiled around his shoulders. Her girth settled about him like a cloak and he stopped the spell while whispering to her.

Rodolphus was jerking with aftershocks and had to take a deep shuddering breath to gather his wits to bring himself to standing. When he had managed to regain his balance, Voldemort's glimmering blood-red eyes met the man's dark blue ones and he allowed the indulgent smirk to drop from his face. He wanted the seriousness of his order to sink into this man and bury itself into his psyche.

"If you ever attempt to override my decisions or commands again, Rodolphus Lestrange, I will find a new Lord to take your place and a new husband for Bellatrix. I assure you it won't be tolerated in the future. Am I understood?"

Sniffling past the blood on his face and the tears that had run from the Crucio, Lestrange nodded. "Completely, my king."

"Good. Leave me."

* * *

**A/N: **I had a major scare with this chapter as I had selected it to copy'n'paste it into and hit paste instead of copy. Freaked out, calmed down, undid the mistake and polished this. Hope you enjoy it. Trying to pinpoint other people's POVs is a difficult business, I tell you. I think I evened it all out. This chapter gave me sooo many problems. Anyway, please review. Thank you. Tickle2Kill.


	9. Silhouette of a Life

~*~Silhouette of a Life~*~

Snape had left the house early, as being Headmaster of Hogwarts meant he was required to attend a meal a day and he preferred breakfast. Though he said he varied them so no one could expect him. He still had not gotten angry at her over the slap and she was thankful for that. She would hate for word to get back that she had died because she _slapped_ the _Slayer_. It would have sent Ron into giggles at the thought, but she would have loathed for it to be the truth.

He had allowed her free reign around most of the manor, excluding a few rooms. The lab, which he explained was equipped with fifteen different wards, his study and his bedroom were off limits, but he let her roam as she wished in the other parts. Snape had told her that the house elves would be available when she was hungry, but she had refused outright. She couldn't possibly turn her back on all she had striven towards in school, no matter how much they had protested. She would not subjugate creatures even if they longed to be. It was not within her to do so.

He had laughed at her, whirling about in his sable cloak so he could see her, and said, "Do you want to die? A Pureblood _dismissing_ the use of a house elf? You'd kill us both!"

Suffice it to say, she grudgingly began to order them about.

Uncto was a dour little grey-green elf with a short loping gait and large eyes that were set so far back they looked like black buttons. He wore the dirtiest pillowcase she had ever seen, tied up on his shoulder like a grand toga. When she had even lifted a finger after dinner to swipe crumbs off her lap, he had grumbled past and slapped her hands away.

"Yous a mudblood, not a broom." he had said in his raspy voice, sending her off with a flapping plaid handkerchief.

Grepa was a stout bluish elf that hopped along like a bunny on tiny little feet, her eyes huge and watery, her ears long and floppy. She was like a little Molly Weasley, always checking to make sure Hermione had eaten and swiftly refilling her plates before she could finish chewing the last bite.

There were two others, but they had never appeared and spoken to her, so she did not know their names. They seemed like twins by what she could gather, but their glaring luminous eyes made her stay away.

Grepa had expressed her relief that another person was in the house as their master was far too clean and left them little to do. Hermione tried to remember to leave things out of place or dirty, but she was very orderly as well and it went against her nature.

Ordering house elves about, having to remember it was a normal pureblood habit, like breathing, was incredibly difficult. Where did pureblood normalcy end and sadistic cruelty begin? She had seen purebloods in one way for so many years that it seemed impossible for them to have a side that wasn't rich, snobby and inclined towards Death Eater interests. The Malfoys were pureblood and Narcissa was Bellatrix's sister. No kind of hatred bred more than the one in the blood. She wondered how she would ever be able to pull it off.

Having spent a day exploring the inside of the bedroom he had given her, she decided to wander around the free areas, inspecting the trinkets and longingly staring at the polished leather books. He hadn't told her whether or not she could read them, which made her not want to touch them. What if he came back and noticed some were missing? What if one of them, or all of them, were spelled to attack or suck her in or worse? She didn't have a wand to protect herself with and it was best to leave well enough alone.

The kitchen was sparse and much like a muggle one, minus the refrigerator, dishwasher, oven and gas-powered stove. Hermione supposed they cooked the food right over an open fire or something, maybe on a spit that they twirled ever so often like she had once when her and her parents had went camping. It was a weird image, to see house elves cooking over a fire pit, but she wasn't sure what the other options were.

The dining room was a place she inspected quickly, not really interested in the thick mahogany table or the simple chairs. As it wasn't time for an afternoon snack just yet, she bypassed the table and kept going, onward to the smaller study across the hall.

It was about as big as she remembered her dad's to be and abnormally tidy. Though outfitted with furniture and stationery, this room hadn't been used at all. She walked around in silence, picking up the inkwell and lightly running her fingers down the feather of the unused quill. There was no parchment sitting out, but when she sat behind the desk in the comfy leather chair and opened the top left drawer, she found a whole stack of it. It was crisp to the touch and smelled brand new, something she relished in for a scant second.

In the haven there was very little of these things. Newly plucked quills and unopened ink bottles, fresh parchment and soft leather chairs...it was like a small piece of heaven.

She hadn't been allowed to live in peace since Harry was blasted into a coma. Everyday had been a struggle, a battle of wits and of sanity. She couldn't lay back and relax; she couldn't rest. Every single soul in the refuge was dependent on what she did outside every time she left. She put her life on the line every outing to ensure the children had books to read and the people had potions to heal their wounds. She sacrificed her own happiness for the lives of so many weary beings and hadn't once tried to stop and savor anything.

Nothing was permanent, she had decided. The moment she became attached it would be ripped from her fingers for use of the whole. Hoarding valuables like food or books or potions was a high offense in the haven's rules. If you made it yourself and could prove so, then it would be permissible to withhold items. If you planted flowers and kept a garden, you could keep them. But if you took from the supply cart and stockpiled potions and things, you could be punished. Most of the time, punishment was simply to work for someone else to pay off the debt. If the offense was of the dark nature, then darker punishments were required.

She had been the poster child for following rules and had made it a habit to not take more than her due. It had become trying when she smuggled a special book back to the haven that she had wanted to read and Moody had taken it for the greater good. By the time she found it amongst the slowly growing library in the small school, it had stains and ripped pages. The once beautiful new book was now Madam Pince's worst nightmare. She stopped bringing books for herself after that.

Quills were always hand-me-downs and ruffled, the points worn slightly dull. The stores in Voldemort's world were locked securely and some even had wand checks at the door. It was hard to stockpile supplies because a mass theft would draw too much attention to the Light. Getting feathers to make their own quills was a hard business, too, as the owls and other birds did not take to the sheltered environment. They could fly and exercise in the space afforded, but birds were wily creatures and longed for the open air. Seeing as the Ministry was monitoring owls that hadn't been registered and approved, the use for them was not worth the labor involved. They had released them all and only Hedwig ever stayed. The snow white owl would hover above Mungo's and hoot before roosting on the flat roof.

Thinking of owls made Hermione want to write a letter. She hadn't written a letter in so long because all the people she would send it to were either in the refuge, in Australia or off in Bulgaria. Viktor would probably not want to speak to her, if he even knew she still lived. The fury that would descend upon him if they discovered he was speaking with the brainy friend of Harry Potter would dissuade anyone with sense. She wouldn't blame him for it really, she would probably encourage him. It was more important that he stay alive than that they still kept in touch.

Hermione slipped her hand into the bottom left drawer and found an ink bottle. She shook it softly then opened it, allowing the scent to permeate the air and absorb into her lungs. It had been forever since she had smelled fresh ink. When she could no longer smell the difference in the air, she lightly dipped the quill and wiped the excess on the lip. It felt good to hold a proper quill again.

The only window in this room allowed the sun to shine in and she soaked in the rarely granted treasure. False sun was no comparison to the true brilliance of this glorious star. When she felt as though she was reintroduced to the blazing orb, she turned back to the task at hand. The scratch of a quill on parchment was like a symphony orchestra playing in her neglected ears. She started with two words.

_I live._

Somehow, those two words began a note, written in a random thought fashion. Incorrect sentences and all. Education forsaken for once.

_I live. The Slayer eats life. Life grows underneath knowledge. Knowledge is power. The old power will fall. We live. The King eats death. Death dies before the truth. Truth is life. The new life will shine. He lives. I live. We live. Life lives. Death be damned._

She laughed aloud and shook her head. _Predictions or plans?_ she thought, blowing on the ink to dry it, then folding it neatly and tucking it back in the drawer on top of all new parchment. She needed to get back to the refuge. How much longer did she have to wait? She stood and went about the house again, heading in a direction she hadn't tried as yet. The living room was a place she had been when he tied her to the chair. It was also where that squib woman had been. Hermione reminded herself that the woman's name was Goldie. she might be the only person to remember her and she refused to forget what her freedom cost. No, the living room was not exactly the first place she wanted to revisit.

Choosing instead to peek into some of the rooms she hadn't seen, she picked the first door her hand found and opened it. It was almost a carbon copy of her rather boring room. Straight satin drapes in blue, hers were yellow, a twin-sized bed with matching comforter and a tiny oak bedside table. The small lamp in this room was silver and hers was pale gold. Rolling her eyes to the heavens and wishing she still had her wand, Hermione went back the direction she had come from.

A snack sounded great now, very great indeed.

* * *

After eating a small sandwich lovingly placed before her by Grepa, she had found a small amount of solace in her appointed room on the upper floor and curled up on her bed. She would have gone to sleep, but the view outside the window caught her attention for the first time. Her room overlooked the expansive back lawn, out past the grounds and to a distant copse of trees about eight yards from her window. If she could jump from this height and survive unscathed, she could run for the treeline. But what good would running do?

She didn't have a wand, which wasn't an entirely bad thing. If she integrated back into muggle society, she was sure she could live out the rest of her days in peace. It would take much more than her life to take over all the ministries across the world and then enslave the muggle population. She would settle down with a nice muggle chap and have kids, become a teacher or something and forget she ever was a witch.

Being a witch had taken her parents from her, had consigned her to this life. She lifted her wand arm and glanced at the pale scar on the tender flesh of her forearm. There, carved almost precisely over her blue veins, was the word Mudblood. Bellatrix Lestrange had grabbed her from one of the halls when they had been escaping the dreaded second wave and in the darkness of an unused classroom she had playfully cut at her and tainted her. Neville had heard Hermione's screams and came to her rescue. But the scar remained both physically and mentally.

She could remember, as though it were happening this very second, the bite of Bellatrix's wand tip as she cut into her deeply. She could taste the blood that rushed her mouth from biting her tongue. But most of all, she could feel the endless agony of the Cruciatus. Over and over, getting worse and worse but never so bad that her body shut down. The spell was crafted to keep one lingering on the edge of numbness, reaching and clawing for senselessness and being unable to attain it. Hermione had begged, had pleaded for mercy but Bellatrix had just smiled and added another letter to the word forming on her forearm. When Hermione had screamed at the torture, Bellatrix had cackled and when she whimpered or wept, the evil witch had caressed her head as if to say, "It will be alright. There's more."

She didn't realize she was crying until the lawn turned into a blob of green and brown. The sob caught in her throat and she turned away from the sight of idealistic freedom. She didn't want any of that. Running was the last thing she could ever do. When Harry woke he would be disappointed and angry with her, but maybe he would understand in the end. Ron and the rest wouldn't, however, and she could never show her face again for fear of what they might do. Deserting the cause for selfishness...it just wasn't her. Not after all she had done to protect it.

Looking outside wasn't fun anymore and she closed the drapes, turned her back on the room and fell asleep.

* * *

Uncto woke her up silently and was gone by the time she had wiped the sleep from her eyes. She stood and had to be still for a moment as her brain caught up with her action. Her nose was stuffed and her head felt packed with cotton; she must have cried herself to sleep. It had been ages since she had done that. Mostly Hermione kept herself too busy to dwell on the past and fell asleep so exhausted that she didn't dream.

She hadn't had a dream for about three years. The very first year of their rebellion they had tried to keep at the level of the past and it had become apparent that with no Dumbledore, no Harry and no Ministry, they were the odd man out. Many people died from lack of supplies, one of them being Samantha's husband Eoghan, from foolish skirmishes and from suicide. Ernie Macmillan had stood between Colin Creevey and MacNair on a hot summer day in the middle of London and would not surrender. They fought a mighty duel right there in the street; MacNair had won. Ron and Colin had personally snuck the poison into one of the medical supply pallets which had eventually rid them of MacNair. Hannah Abbott had brewed the potion.

Memories were like knives in the heart, forged of a metal so strong it could pierce sanity. Her tears were shed for those beneath the cold ground and sorrow couldn't ressurect them. She made her way to the bathroom across the hall and washed her face. In the mirror, she saw shadow-rimmed eyes that she barely recognized. Sighing and running her hands down her wrinkled shirt, Hermione made her way downstairs.

The dining room was set and ready, but she veered off to the living room where Snape was standing before the fire. He was wearing the rich black robes she had glimpsed on him before, except this one had soft green designs along the hems and his boots didn't have anything but a silver buckle on them. He spun around as she stepped into the room and she thought she saw what appeared to be a smile cross his lips before it vanished and his normal look was back.

"You didn't touch the books." he commented, a curious tilt to his brow. "I was sure you would."

Snorting softly, Hermione moved forward and sat in the nearest chair. "I'm not an idiot, I'll remind you. I don't have a wand and there was no way of knowing what spells could be on those books. Just because they are shiny doesn't mean they're safe."

He nodded. "I removed any spells on them when I left. I am not an idiot either. I remember you as well as I did before. You could have read to your heart's content."

Gaping inelegantly, Hermione huffed and looked at the floor. This view was slightly better because of what she found. Hidden partially by his cloak down by his feet were three black bags, stuffed full of clothing and one with palm-sized boxes. She frowned and made for them, her mind racing. When she pulled the first paper bag to her, she saw witch's robes in black, blue, green, silver, purple, one in red and one in yellow. The second bag that held the small boxes turned out to be different pairs of shoes. Boots in black and silver. Trainers, heels, slippers, all in colors to match the robes. The third bag was full with muggle clothes; shirts, slacks, shorts, blouses, jeans, a jacket, and a coat. Bundled at the bottom of the bag were underthings; nothing fancy, though, just boy shorts and average panties.

The smell of fresh clothes sent her dizzy for a moment and she chided herself for being so swooned by simple pieces of fabric. She looked up at him and he gazed down at her expectantly and slightly wary. Licking her lips, she spoke.

"You did this for me? Why?" Her mother would have chastised her for looking a gift horse in the mouth, but she couldn't help herself. In this world, you had to do things to get rewards. What was he expecting?

"You will need robes for the Yule Ball and since it is not exactly wise to show you around Diagon Alley just yet, I went myself. Knowing you, I was sure you would appreciate muggle wear as well. Does it please you?" he replied, his arms crossed before him in a protective manner.

Something in his eyes spoke to her without words as he asked the question and she bit her lip. Could she honestly say no? When was last time she had gotten new clothing or new anything? Offering him a smile, she nodded.

"It's great! But I can't pay you back at the moment." she began softly, embarrassed. She had never had to turn down things because she couldn't pay...it didn't come naturally to her. She wondered if Ron went through this. Maybe Harry had before he had gotten access to his parent's Gringotts account.

"There is no need. Take them up to your room, dinner is almost ready." he shifted slightly to his left and quietly exited the room.

She sat there on the floor by the bags, confused and happy all at once. She had never imagined that Snape would give her something she hadn't truly earned. She mused that she might be the first person he had ever done this for. It made her feel important in a way. _Important to Snape_, she thought though it was absurd to the mind that had never been able to write an essay or brew a potion to make him smile. But beneath her fingers there was soft silk and she rushed to the room with her arms full of black bags, giggling joyously at the gift.

* * *

Dinner was a magnificent meal. Roast beef and stir-fry vegetables with melt-in-your-mouth rolls covered in butter, and pumpkin juice or butterbeer to drink. She couldn't help the lack of rules about her and gave into the hunger rumbling through her stomach. It had been an eternity since she had last eaten this well. All this food on the table and just for her! Oh, and Snape. But he seemed preoccupied.

When she had polished off her third roll and was working her way through a generous second helping of stir-fry, he spoke.

"Do they not feed you in this refuge?" his eyes were narrowed and she gulped down her mouthful to speak.

"They do, it's just..."

"You never get to eat this much by yourself?" his voice pierced through her and she dropped her fork.

It couldn't be that obvious, could it? They weren't mistreated at the refuge, it's just that jump-starting your own farm wasn't as quick a process as one assumed. Their main problem being the amount of people and the means of getting seeds. Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration proved truer than she would like to admit and they couldn't seem to bring back enough vegetables and fruit to make their own mass garden. They had the space, but not the supplies. Multiplying the food from what they had present worked at first, it seemed, but the nutritional value was diminished with every copy. It became useless to give people piles of bread and cheese when their bodies would not register proper fuel. Pomona was working hard on trying to get it all to take in such a small space of time.

"Well, things are tough, we get as much as we can. No one's starving or going without..." she muttered, wiping the juice off her lips and gazing at him uncertainly.

He leaned forward and eyed her with those tunnel-like black orbs. "Why do I get the feeling its more than just tough to feed the survivors? You eat like a beggar at a rich man's table."

Shaking her head and pushing herself away from the delightful feast, Hermione stood. "We do fine. I was just hungry. I'm sorry if my eating disgusted you." She turned to leave, but he was suddenly before her, his height making it all too easy to box her in the room.

"If they eat well, why don't you?" When she tried to flee, he caught her arm and held her still. As he went to speak, she beat him to it.

"I let them eat before I touch a morsel, okay? They don't know how bad it is because they aren't on the scavenging missions. We lie to them to make them feel safe and then we go further and further away from the haven to find more food to replace what doesn't grow fast enough. It's my job to keep everyone alive, so I eat last!" A few tears had broken past her lids and she shuddered against the sobs that begged to be unleashed.

She hadn't told anyone but Moody and Neville. Everyone else believed they were doing alright and that she was eating as well. They had tried to get her to eat right along with everyone, but she couldn't condone letting one of the poor children go hungry. The sight of their little faces made her hunger vanish. She ate enough to live, what was the problem?

"What else are the survivors lacking, aside from food and medical supplies?" he questioned, his eyes focused so wholly on her that she felt like a bug under a magnifying glass. He would pin her to a board soon and show her off to his whole class. She wanted to laugh at the thought, but no sound came.

"Books, quills, parchment, ink, desks and things for the kids. Healers and the like for the sick or injured." She couldn't, by her oath, tell him the places or the people or anything truly compromising, but she tried as best she could to explain. "Wands..." she gestured with her arm. "Maker. Cores for the wands." she waved her arm again and Snape nodded. "I don't know everything we need, I'm a scavenger, but I haven't memorized the list because it keeps changing."

"How can I help?" he asked her, letting her go.

Before she could speak, a white light materialized inside the dining room, leaping atop the table and stepping directly through the food like a ghost. It was a beautiful silver-white lynx, tall, lithe and strong, with gray tufts of fur on the tips of its ears. It peered around and its eyes fell on Hermione.

"_Persephone, send your white, Orpheus sings a sad song_." it said and promptly disappeared.

Both the occupants of the room stood still until Snape turned to her. "That was Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice. What does he mean, 'send your white'?"

Hermione sighed, then frowned. "It's code for 'Patronus'. We send them with code phrases or something only we would understand. I haven't sent one since I was captured because..." For some reason she felt bad about reminding him that he broke her wand and she clamped her mouth shut. He caught her drift though and quirked a brow.

"What will happen if you don't respond?"

"They will assume I am dead or captured. Either way is not good, dead is dead and captured is eventually dead. They would have no choice, but to..."

"Abandon you?!" he cut in, anger shooting into his expression so fast it scared her. "Is this what the resistance is? A bunch of starving children and cowards?"

"We aren't strong enough to face them all, Slayer! Unlike you we only have each other, you've got the whole of the Ministry and Vol-I mean, the King." she corrected, her anger fleeing from the close call. His name was Taboo'ed and extremely dangerous to utter, even by accident.

"I will replace your wand." Severus sighed, then looked her straight in the eye. "Send them a damn Patronus then, ease their worries." he sneered, pulling a thin black wand out of his robes and presenting it to her.

She hesitated but, with a silent glare from him, she grasped it. She felt the gravity of this act in all of her bones. He trusted her, trusted her completely. Determined not to waste that trust, she concentrated; she had to get this right. The wand felt odd in her hand, good and uncomfortable all at once. Thinking of the words she wanted to send, Hermione waved the wand.

"_Quiet, Mother. It's only winter, summer will return."_

* * *

**A/N:** I got this one done as quick as I could. There is a lot of stuff I want to get to and I hope you will love it as much as I do. Drop a line in the review box, all thoughts are appreciated. Tickle2Kill.


	10. Gravity

~*~Gravity~*~

He had handed her his wand.

It was not a thought-out action, simply a vague urge and then his fingers had been empty of his strongest offense and defense. It wasn't until she waved the wand that he realized exactly what he'd done. He was all sorts of furious with himself, but no word of it passed his lips. What on earth had possessed him to that extreme bout of madness?

He had never let anyone touch his wand, because after his mother had given up her own for his father and lost the will with it to protect herself, he had sworn to never let someone-anyone-take his power away. He had fought for years to maintain a semblance of strength and self-worth, years made up of failure, pain and insecurity. Being told you were either nothing or an abomination did not exactly perpetuate self confidence. Then he had received his letter and a new bruise, but he had something precious. He had a way out and he had a friend.

Severus didn't know, couldn't know, what would befall him. He wouldn't know that everyday he spent at Hogwarts his power would be chipped away at. He wouldn't know that he would lose his friend. He wouldn't know that years later he would overhear a prophecy and consign himself the ultimate of debasement. He wouldn't know that one day, he would serve two masters and the power that he had so proudly held onto in his youth would be dead like his mother, like his father, like his future.

Now he wrapped himself around that which was precious to him and refused to let go. Because maybe if he had held on a little stronger, for a little longer, neither his free will nor the love of his life would be gone. Perhaps if he holds on tight enough that which he cherishes will become part of him and would never leave. He hated himself for the need within him for anything but common sustenance. He hated wanting something for his own so desperately he could not sleep some nights. But mostly, he hated how the things he wanted could never seem to want him.

The patronus lynx's interruption had taken the talk of helping the resistance away and she had rushed to bed, leaving his wand on the table by her plate. He had put it in its proper place in his robes, staring after her with both a longing and frustration.

He sat himself on his bed and stared at the wall, felt the thin black wand in his robes and frowned at the thoughts going through his head.

He did not want her to leave. He wanted her to remain here, with him, as proof that he was not losing his mind. She was _his_ beacon of hope. No one was going to take her from him. He would _kill_ anyone who dared take her. He had bought her clothing and fed her, she was his to look after now. Besides, the King would not accept anything but her presence at the Ball and he was always one to oblige...as if he had another choice.

Severus eased off his boots and stood one last time to prepare for bed, then flopped backwards and closed his eyes.

She had just got here, hadn't even properly settled in._ Greedy little brats the resistance have become_, he thought, turning to his side and glaring at the wall once more. If she left he would be back where he had begun, lost again and floundering through the darkness with nary an idea of where to go. Forward and forward until he fell off the earth.

A sense of dread filled him. Would he ever see her again if she left his side? An endless abyss stretched out before him as he grasped onto the thought that this was all the peace Fate would afford him. He tried to imagine living now that he knew they still existed yet having no physical proof before him. It was the slope of his destruction. Time plays tricks on battered minds and his walls were not exempt from the torture.

She was a dose of heat to his frozen limbs but to douse him in ice once more would surely kill him. He could not face the future not knowing how she fared or if the resistance still thrived wherever they were hiding. She was all he had to go on, all the breath in his ravenous lungs.

He scoffed at himself and pressed an angry palm over his heart. Would it also be his misfortune to love her and become obsessed as he had over Lily? He knew his inclination toward avariciousness when it came to things he cherished. He was a hard man and yet he could love as fiercely as the protagonists in the fabled stories. Holding onto his objects of affection like a jealous collector, keeping them from harm and doting on them endlessly.

But he was restrictive and stern occasionally, so consumed with his love he grew possessive and demanding, ofttimes running his desire away instead of pulling it near.

It was not his doing, he surmised, merely a product of his upbringing. In the home of Tobias Snape, what Severus cared for had to be hidden to remain untarnished. Under floorboards, in broken sections of the walls, buried somewhere in a metal box, anything to save it from his father's eventual wrath. In time this habit grew into everything he did, especially love. He was not sure if he truly knew love as he had heard it told.

He knew _his_ love, _his_ imaginings of forever after. It was a mixture of things he had heard and learned from stories and of the baser attractions represented through teenage forms. He knew what teenage love was, he had felt its sting and lived through the poison for better or worse. But man/woman love eluded his mind as to its finer details, its subtle nuances and crafty deceptions. Once he had flirted the line between his own reality and the reality of the whole, but their ideas of love were pale reflections of his inner capacity for the feeling and he had shunned it as he had James Potter and anything to do with being correct by societal standards.

What use was it to bow on your knee before your paramour if you were swayed by just her beauty or her status within the commonality? Where was the true loyalty in their love when trials came between them to test their own faiths? He had seen the love of the whole and it proved insubstantial and fallacious. Let money be unleashed to lick at their love. Let power come with wily tresses to tempt them away from each other. He had watched the simplest of advances rip apart at the unwavering devotion.

But devotion was a double-edged sword that walked the line as accustomed vices do. He had fancied himself devoted to Lily, and he grew obsessive and rash in his adoration of her. She had been his first friend, his only true friend. But he had thrown that away like only he could. That memory had been the bane of his existence for nearly twenty years now. If Fate were not as cruel as wise men said, then perhaps this gift of hope was their version of a second chance.

He closed his eyes again and pictured in his mind what forms of his cultured manipulation he would have to employ to secure her presence in his home, in his life. Sleep soon robbed him of his scheming and he did not dream.

* * *

He searched the house before going onward to Hogwarts as he had felt his day went faster when his mind was not filled with thoughts of nothingness or of boredom. He had dressed in black as was his wont, his feet adorned in the Celtic dragon-hide boots. He knew now that she would be conscious of how much she ate again, after his inquiries yesterday. Grepa was already under orders to keep her fed and to coerce her if she refused the larger meals or seemed to be restraining herself. He was worried she would waste away out of some foolish _suffering in unity_ defiance. He could not let her do it to herself.

His first stop was her bedroom as it was still early in the morning and he did not expect her to be up and about. But when he mounted the steps from the living room and knocked on her door, there was no answer.

In his heart, he was gripped with an stranglehold of fear. What could have happened to her so soon and under his roof? He realized his overreaction and calmed himself before he could rage into a fury. _Logic_, he told himself, _use logic to find her_.

He checked the small library on the bottom floor that branched off from the artificial display of a sitting room, but it was as empty as it was when he was not here. He bypassed the shelves with books on top of books and looked out past the delicate white and feminine window seat with fluttering lavender drapes to the back lawn. Out there must be where she had gone. The window was wide open and pieces of parchment were rolling outward or to the floor, depending on the sway of the breeze.

The bite in the air swept through his robes as though he were clad in only his skin. He suppressed a shiver and leaned forward to gaze outward, toward the furthest copse of trees. There was one willow before the expanse of lawn that reached out to the wooded area surrounding his property and he glimpsed among the hanging branches some shadow.

Uncto appeared beside him without a sound and tugged on his robes. When he looked down those deep-set button eyes gazed up at him with a curious gleam.

"What is it, Uncto?" he asked, catching one side of the curtain in his hand and pulling it to the side.

"Mudblood mistress wents to the willow to read and she woulds not take breakfast or a cloak. Grepa tells her she gets sick in winter, but miss went along anyhows." the raspy voice sounded chiding and Severus smirked down at the creature.

"Thank you, Uncto. Oh and refrain from using that word or I shall give you a nice handsewn sweater. Understood?" Uncto bowed quickly his ears down. "Depart from me now, you've work to do." the elf was gone by the time he had closed his mouth.

It would be terribly uncivilized to crawl through the window as she had done, so he summoned the spinning parchment from outside and pulled shut the doors then latched them. The drapes fell still and he spelled the papers back to order, laying them on the nearest table. Crossing back over the library to the back door, he removed the wards from it, then stepped out into the winter air.

He would have to recast the wards to include windows...he could scarce believe something like that escaped his notice. He must have been very aloof in his depression to forget such a thing as _warding windows_. He was rather displeased with himself at the moment. Had he let himself stray so far in that space of time? Hardening his own mind to that road, he swore to himself he would never fall into that disrepair again.

Even with his cloak and a warming charm he shivered against the elements and wondered how she could withstand the weather and bear to read a word, much less a book. He shook his head at the audacity of Gryffindors and marched onward with crunching footsteps as his boots broke the dead grass. His breath echoed out in front of him like phantom clouds, swirling around his lips before being whisked away by a strong wind. The crisp morning temperature only wore on him because of the wind and he cast another charm to ward off the chill.

When he approached the branches, he peeked within their shelter and saw her curled up against the trunk with a thick wool blanket about her shoulders her tawny orbs flying over the pages desperately. Grepa must have finally convinced her to have some sort of protection. He bent to sidle to her spot and welcomed the odd warmth that came from the long hanging leaves. It had been planted by the architect and he had ensured the willow would keep its leaves as thick as in summer, only they would die like its normal brethren. The canopy surrounding them was as dead as the other trees, but thick and protective. He could see why she would seek refuge here, even if he thought her mad for coming outside without a wand.

"I could not find you in the house." he remarked gently, looking over what she read. It was _Hogwarts: A History_. Why she caressed the words of Bathilda Bagshot baffled him. Again, he wanted to ask her what had happened these four years, but he stopped himself. When she was ready and trusted him enough, she would confide in him. He would wait until then.

"At least it's clean." she muttered, then looked up at him and closed the book. "You should be at Hogwarts, Headmaster."

"I came to check you were alright before I took my leave. I find you in the winter wind with little protection, reading a school book. Is there a reason for your regression to first year mandatory reading?" he questioned, casting a warming charm over her.

She smiled, then patted the bark beside her. "When I looked out my window this morning, I saw this tree. All I could think was willow. Then I remembered the Whomping Willow and Hogwarts. I remembered what it was like when the King was a Lord and a memory of an enemy vanquished. I remembered the first book my parents bought in Diagon Alley and I knew they would think I was dead. I knew they had probably had a funeral for me, buried me beside Gran and Grandad, right where Great Aunt Carolyn was supposed to be before her second husband moved her away to Canada. I remembered my mother's voice and I had to get out of that small space. I would have went mad in there if I had stayed."

"Why _Hogwarts: A History_?" he asked, softly taking the book from her relaxed hand. "It's a bit academic for a morning reading."

"I was thinking of my parents when I woke because I dreamed of them. They kept saying something but I couldn't hear them and when I went to touch them, they vanished like smoke. This tree was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes and I remembered this book. I suppose I should have thought of the myths since that's how they named me, but it didn't come to mind."

He read the words she had caressed then closed the book with a snap. "Come inside, you can read indoors until I get you a wand."

"I heard you disbanded Gryffindor." She said suddenly, looking at him curiously.

"They tried to reinstate Dumbledore's Army. I would have let them continue in silence, but they were not tactful about their rebellion. The King wished it gone and I complied. I had little choice."

"We all have so very little choice."

Standing, she dusted off her jeans and he noticed they were a pair that he had gotten her. The surge of happiness that invaded his chest made him pause and she looked at him strangely. He cleared his throat and recast the warming charm then parted the branches for her and let them fall back once they were both clear. The trek to the library door was quiet aside from her shivering and the whistle of the wind through the bare trees. He drew closer to her and she drifted nearer to him as he diminished the fierceness of the wind. Severus' cloak whipped out past her and fell back, over and over with the whip of the air about them.

He opened the door for her and followed her in, re-warding the door and flicking his wand at the windows. Her eyes watched his movements and he sighed.

"What ever urges possess you whilst I am gone, do not yield to them. I would loathe for your untimely death to be the catalyst for bad dreams and memories."

She chuckled softly into her hand and shook her head. "That's been the death of us all for four years now. Why change our modus operandi?"

Looking her in the eye with a shade of a smirk, Severus replied. "Because it's the only free will we have left in the King's world."

* * *

Lucius Malfoy made a special stop to Hogwarts with as much exuberance as a puppy, fluttering in the door with his platinum locks in flight behind him. He was wearing pale blue robes in silk and velvet, a dark blue cloak draped elegantly over his broad shoulders. He eyed Severus with a conspiratorial glow as he seated himself in the chair before the Headmaster's desk.

"So," he began, laying his cane beside his right leg as he leaned forward to watch his comrade's every move. "What's this I hear about a woman? Kept her from me, you sly devil. What's her name?"

Severus suppressed a smirk and folded his fingers together, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair. "Now, now, Lucius, where are your manners?"

Rolling his pale grey orbs and striking the floor with his cane, the eldest Malfoy tsk'ed. "Out with it, you snake! Where did you meet? Have you...?"

"Did you come all the way from Paris to annoy me with a barrage of questions whose answers are none of your business? You've wasted your time." Severus interrupted, then stood and filled two glasses with Firewhisky, sending one to Lucius' outstretched fingers and taking the other back to the desk; he did not sit.

"Stop avoiding my questions! Who is she? Is she Pureblood? Is she rich?" he asked, almost bouncing in his seat with the need for answers.

Severus narrowly avoided a chuckle and turned his back to the blond man to hide his smile. Many times Lucius had been this riled up about Severus' prospective forays into love or some semblance of it, but it never failed to amuse him how boyish the man became. It was a welcome change from the dreary conversations of Pureblood mania and the King's decrees. A rustle behind him made him spin in alarm, but Lucius had simply stood.

"I hear she's a Damasca. That family has got more problems than an Arithmancy exam and I learn as well that she is poor Icarys' sister, the one his mother, Kestrel, would never speak about. The plot thickens, my dear friend." Lucius' eagerness revealed to Severus how much he actually knew and the dark-haired man let the chuckle come though it held little life. Was it possible for Icarys to have a sister? He would speak with Hermione and they could figure out what to do.

"You're getting loose with your tongue again." Sitting down at the Headmaster's desk, Severus sighed. "Her name is Persephone."

A light came over Lucius' angular face and he grinned. "Of course. I thought her name was Polly, Penelope or some nonsense. Is she beautiful?"

"Yes." Left Severus' lips before he could stop it and he forced himself not to react to the slip. He had been thinking of her face when the mask had fallen away when he had heard the question and answered without thinking.

"_Oh-ho_!" Lucius muttered lowly, a triumphant smirk overtaking his handsome features. "So she does exist and you are in love! Who would have thought the day would come...again?" The sarcasm crawled across the floor with a weak limp, guffawing in joy.

"Oh, you remember Lily as well?" Severus muttered, draining his glass and setting it on the desk with a curt thud.

Lucius paused and his excitement vanished for a moment. He appeared contrite, bringing his cane before him with a slight lean. "I didn't mean to..."

"It's fine." Severus circled around to his seat and made it useful, pressing back as far as he could go to stretch his back. He stared unblinking at a random spot on his desk and sighed.

"I'm happy for you, Severus. Twenty years is a long time to hold on to the dead. Persephone should have enough standing, however dubious, and clout to be aesthetically well-matched, perhaps her beauty is in proportion to her brains. Fate isn't always cruel, my friend. Sometimes its a kindness less appreciated because of its foreboding exterior. Give it another chance." The voice was convincing and full with coercion, both of which made Severus eye his comrade doubtfully.

"Why does it matter to you so much?"

His face becoming so serious it gave Severus an uneasy feeling, the fair-haired man smiled grimly. "When I was your age, Draco was fourteen soon to be fifteen, telling me of the Boy-Who-Died and how he entered the Triwizard Tournament. Even if Narcissa was not the woman I wanted when I was made to marry, she gave me Draco...there is nothing greater in this world."

"Not even your endless Galleons and a spot on the King's right hand?" Severus asked, not entirely sure if this was a play or not. He knew how much Lucius loved his son, but he had never had to speak of it before.

"Not even that. Not for all the world and its plunder. The sound of Draco's first cry, the sight of his first steps, the day he said, '_Da-da_.' No amount of madness or power could make me forfeit that. My son is the only reason I care to live in this sham of a world anymore; the King offers nothing that I did not have before. Narcissa, if I could have chosen her, would be the only companion I could trust outside of yourself, and my son would never be who he is without her. This life does not begin and end, in truth, unless you have the experiences I have had.

"I care for you too much to let you fade in and out through your life without once making a mark that really matters. What does it mean in the end of all this triumph if you cannot say to yourself that you lived any of it? Take this woman, if she fits into your heart, and make a family. Give me a child to godfather, give Narcissa an intelligent companion, give Draco a real friend. Do anything but lay about in this slump of depression! I can't stand to see you wither away in this school. I've known you too long to stand by while you kill yourself."

A contemplative silence descended upon them and Severus stared hard at a spot just to the other man's left. A million thoughts went through his head, none of which left answered. A frown came across his face and his hands unclasped, falling to his lap with an uncertain thump. Lucius had never spoken to him of anything but fleeting dalliances and short-lived paramours, encouraging his thoughts of desire and longing. Black orbs gazing upwards insecurely in a way that made him feel like a fresh young student, Severus drew in a deep breath.

The aristocratic man's grey eyes grew soft and he stood. "I've got to return to Paris, Ariel is a very impatient minister."

Severus walked his friend to the door and saw him out with a rarely seen smile, taking the advice to heart. The sincerity in the elder Malfoy's voice made him appreciate his friendship with the man. No one would truly care if he grew old and died without an heir or without a wife, beside Lucius. He had to admit that even he didn't care most of the time. Why marry when love was not present? Status? Power? He hated all these things when marriage was involved. He had lost count of all the pureblooded pairings that had met for gain and not for the pleasure of passion, of yearning, of emotion. He did not want that burden, he never had.

He sat heavily at his desk and brooded. If Lucius knew of a sister to Icarys, there was no telling who else did. He had been so sure Icarys was an only child. The boy had been dark and silent, with no friends and no fuss. He came and went like a ghost for his first few weeks, until he tried out for Quidditch and proved to be a brilliant Chaser. He avoided the parties and gatherings of his house of Slytherin, turned in his assignments on time and never made a ruckus. His uncle, Oberan, had been his only relative and had been just as mum on the matter as the boy. But if Icarys has a sister, then Severus' ruse just became even more dangerous.

He headed home early that night, his mind busy with ways to twist this new bit of information. He would have to investigate the Damasca family slyly without drawing the attention of his group of enemies, namely Rodolphus Lestrange. The devotee to the King was more than supervisor of supplies, he was also the scholar of family trees. Voldemort used him to reaffirm or disabuse the masses of anyone's bloodline. Severus had been far too loyal to be put under a microscope and since the King himself was halfblood, he had managed to slide out of the otherwise mandatory check of all the King's servants. Rodolphus shared the responsibility of the Muggleborn Registry Commission with Lucius Malfoy.

If Rodolphus found them to be false, it would cause their opening to close far too quickly. In the morning he would go down to the records office and investigate. Hopefully, and Severus did not dare to tempt Fate, he would be able to secure this identity as faultless. The King knew Persephone Damasca now and there was no going back.

* * *

**A/N: **I had to add things to this one that I overlooked when I first wrote it. At the first draft of this chapter, I was a bit aimless in my plot, but as I finished chapters and kept writing, I found out my direction and this was the result. I hope you all are ready, because soon we are going to be in for a wild ride. My penchant for cliffhangers and twists will factor in, so I hope you like those. Also, thank you to all those that have reviewed, favorited and alerted. It means a lot and urges me to hurry up and get to work. Please review, Tickle2Kill.


	11. The Moment We Come Alive

~*~The Moment We Come Alive~*~

She was waiting for him that night, sitting in the dining room with a decidedly stern air about her as she sipped pumpkin juice from a clear glass. Grepa vanished as soon as he came around the doorway and she looked up. Her sharp tawny eyes lacked her usual softness and it put him off.

"We must talk before you sleep, it's quite urgent." her voice didn't sound like her own and he swallowed before stepping forward.

"What about, I wonder?" he gently questioned. To match the power of a queen radiating out from her, he assumed his seat with a kingly air.

"You know what. Kingsley's patronus, my response. I can't linger here long. If I am to remain in the service of the Light and if you wish to help us, I must return. There is no other option."

"What of me?" he asked, shifting in his seat as a creeping chill flew from the base of his spine to right behind his ears. "Are you so eager to rob me of hope?"

"No," she began, her hands setting the glass on the table. "I did not say I would stay away. I must attend the Ball and perhaps even events after that. My codename is Persephone...so," she hesitated, licking her lips before gazing back up at him. "the summer with them, the winter with you."

He took a breath to calm the unbelievable urge to kiss her for inexplicably reading his mind. All that brooding and conspiring and she was to remain with him regardless. He could have floated if it wasn't an unavoidable sign of madness. The pumpkin juice by his hand went well to fill the space for his own response.

"Am I to be known as Hades, then? What with all the aliases and such."

A tinkling laugh stumbled out of her lips and he brought his drink to his own to quell a smile.

"I had thought of it, but I wasn't yet brave enough to suggest it. Would you be willing? To take the name, I mean."

"What harm would there be in it? I'm sure half the Order believes me a demon with one too many faces and not enough loyalty, the other half have their heads buried so deep in the dirt they only believe in the bite of the wind."

Another sweet laugh erupted from her mouth and he met her eyes. Uncto crept by and both their glasses were refilled before they had a chance to realize they were nearly empty. As he made to drink his, she sat hers down.

"Does that mean you'll let me leave?" she asked, meeting his eyes with that hardened gleam.

He wasn't sure if he wanted her to go, really. He had yet to buy her a wand, but he knew she would find some excuse for why that wouldn't truly matter. He had given her clothing, she had accepted, and he could use that as leverage to keep her still. Ah, but he knew that was shaky at best and she would have a fit if he told her simply being given a garment, like a house elf gains freedom, would bind her to him. He had never trusted the word of man or of woman and she, despite her appealing qualities, was still a woman. She could decide never to return and leave him here alone while she regaled her compatriots of his evilness. Why not kill two birds with one stone?

Then again, he thought, he could have her swear by her word in a more..._reliable manner_, but that idea reminded him too much of what Albus had always done to him. Bind them with words, they could always break free. Bind them with words _and_ magic and they would be trapped forever. No matter the grip fear had over him, he could not imagine doing that to her. The only outcome he could see of that road was her tear-stained face as she was forced to decide which was more important to her; her life or the one she swore away.

He had lived that hell, one too many times to count. No human save the King deserved that, least of all her. He broke their gaze and fiddled with his glass, watching the disturbed liquid ripple over and over itself, never able to find a way out of the confinement. A wave of dizziness hit him and he closed his eyes.

"Promise me." he whispered, taking a breath to clear his head. "Promise me you will return."

There was silence for a moment and he was startled by a soft hand easing his off the glass. The smaller hand gripped his tightly and shook. "I promise."

Severus sighed slowly, holding the hand in his. "Lucius Malfoy came by my office today."

"What for?" He noted that she did not remove her hand.

"He has heard about you, the false you. It appears there may have been a real Persephone."

"But there is no way her name was the same. And how do you know she was real?"

"I don't, but that is why I must find out. I cannot leave any loose ends. Does Moody still live?" He shook his head with a wry smirk. "What am I saying? Of course he lives. Tell him about this development when you return, have him research the Damascas as well. If you want my aid, you will have to do your part."

Hermione nodded, retreating back to her seat across from him. "I don't know the first thing about being pureblood. I need to understand them to mimic them and I confess that my tainted view of them is not really an understanding one. How am I to masquerade as a pureblood if I cannot fathom how it is they are the way they are? On one hand there is Bellatrix Lestrange and on the other there is Mrs Weasley. I don't know how to bridge the gap."

He thought for a moment, contemplating the best way to go about this. He had been half-blood his entire life and that meant that part of him was pure no matter what anyone else said. He knew how to copy people enough to adopt Lucius' regal bearing, the King's aloofness and his own mix of darker traits to dissuade anyone from approaching him that he did not invite. But Severus knew that he had spent his life working toward that persona and it must be terribly hard for a lion to be caged or chained for any reason. He was a snake by design and it came naturally to a snake to blend in as best as they could. Lions roared and lions postured and lions fell to stinging bites.

"I'll...I'll ask Narcissa to counsel you on etiquette. Maybe the fact that no one has really heard of you means that you aren't as fluent in pureblood manners. I'll pass it off as making you ready to be seen by the King and, in turn, the world."

"Narcissa?" He heard within her voice a hint of fear.

"Bellatrix does not speak to her sister often and Narcissa is a friend. Do not confuse one sister for the other merely because they were carried in the same womb. Evil is crafted into the soul by a steady hand or gouged into it by a devastating attack, it does not simply bloom with birth." She seemed contrite and he spoke to cut the tension. "When would you like to leave?"

A light appeared in her eyes and she met his solidly. "Before the sun rises."

* * *

This morning was cold and quiet, the trees barely lifting a branch to wave hello in the soft breeze. Hermione stepped out the front door of the manor she had been cooped up in and had to simply breathe in the scent of open air. It tasted like honey.

The front lawn was much the same as the back and it appeared he had quite a bit of land all to himself. Even though the manor was at the top of a hill, she could see nothing but trees in any direction. Birds hovered over before diving and swooping about, some with catches, some cawing at the others' good hunting. She couldn't quite hear their protests, not in the hush of predawn. The morning was not yet ready to shine in all its splendor and she suddenly felt the weight of her midnight rising.

Behind her, Snape tapped his wand on Hermione's head and she felt the cool wave of magic trickle down to her toes. The Disillusionment Charm always made her feel funny, as the coolness of it never really faded and when she moved it shifted against her skin like a tickling silk.

"To the Leaky Cauldron, then." She whispered, hooking her arm around his elbow as he came to her side.

"You could have worn some of the clothes I bought you." he murmured, rolling his shoulders and looking down to her nearly invisible form.

She shook her head, pressing her hand over her dirty shirt. "I couldn't have walked into the haven in brand new jeans. Not if I couldn't have shared them. Besides, how would I look to them if I came back in perfect health, dressed in clothing I can't buy, telling them about a inside man? They'd lock me up somewhere, feed me Veritaserum and either try to find out which Death Eater I was or at what point did I break and hand myself over to the King's service. It's better this way."

Grunting noncommittally, the tall man beside her shifted his arm and looked away. "Fine. Let's go."

* * *

The Leaky Cauldron was half empty, mostly occupied with drunkards or people with nothing to do but sit and wait for life. It smelled like she supposed it would, full of promise but bogged down by shady liquor and unwashed clothes. People had little to cherish nowadays. Of course, that was if you weren't a player in the King's chess game. Then, and only then, would you have something to look forward to. Hermione had to creep by a vomiting man to reach the entrance to Diagon Alley. Dregs abounded in the shadows of success, she noticed, pressing herself into the wall.

Snape was muttering something to Tom the barkeep and the man nodded solemnly. _Can't find nothing here_, she read his lips as he answered and frowned. What did that mean? She held her breath as a man stumbled right by her, hiccoughing into his wool clad arm. When she was finally able to breathe without fear of detection, she glanced back to Snape. He was four feet from her and he was looking about, his jet black eyes passing over her once then twice. Slowly reaching out, she slid her hand into his and squeezed. He stopped looking around, but kept staring forward. Without giving her even a nod, he proceeded forward, into the alley and to the brick wall.

When they were alone, he turned to her, his eyes focused on her chin. "How far do I take you?"

"Take me to Knockturn Alley. Let me send them one last patronus and they'll come get me. Then...then you can go to work." her voice must have sounded odd coming from apparently no one. She squeezed his hand again, but he tensed and jerked it back.

"We shouldn't waste time here, then. Come."

Her hand was suddenly cold and she felt lost for a moment. It made her nervous and she hurried to stand beside him.

"I'll be back. I promised." she reminded, looking up at him with worried eyes even though he couldn't see them.

"Promises always find a way to break." he whispered absentmindedly, tapping the stones in that familiar order.

The bricks were shifting, Diagon Alley was beginning to emerge and she felt like something was slipping away from her. She was losing ground or safety or something. Blinking at herself and at the feeling, she took his hand again.

"Not mine."

He glanced to her from the corner of his eye, sighed and stepped through the passageway. She was relieved that he didn't drop her hand.

* * *

Knockturn shouldn't have been so familiar to her, so normal. She found the dirty grey streets and the clanking of pushers' carts to be more of a home than any house she had ever known. She had been safe in this darkness for four years. It was hard to believe anything that wasn't covered with the soot of waste and disregard could be habitable for the Light. Only things that weren't noticed were safe for her kind. She was the spokesperson for the unsightly horde after all. Laughing inwardly and letting her invisible fingers drag along the cracking stone walls, Hermione sped up and pulled Snape to a safe and quiet place.

Off from the main road, far from where the pushers were willing to tread, she had made herself a hiding place in case she was followed. It would not do well to alert the enemies of the Light that their supposed dead foes were thriving beneath their feet. If she were being tailed, she would hide here and wait out the pursuers. She wondered if Snape would use this as a starting point if he turned traitor for real. Shaking that from her mind, she pulled him through the broken section of a wall and into a small square room. It had a sleeping pallet in the darkest corner, where rats and other creatures would've crawled. She would usually wave them off if they got too close, though she had bewitched the pallet to be a deterrent to rodents and insects alike.

Among the shreds of the Rat's Nest she called temporary safety, Hermione had hidden an old family heirloom. It was her mother's old photo album. One of the only things she had managed to bring with her, along with the soft silk bookmark with her name,_ Hermione_, in gold thread. She picked up the book and caressed its cover. It was bound leather, supple and had been passed down the line since her grandmother. It was one of the few things she refused to let fall into the hands of the rebellion. Success or no, she would keep this safe with her life if she had to. It was the only thing she could imagine that would solidify her promise to return to him.

Once inside the small refuge, she brought his hand to the top of her head. "Could you remove the Disillusionment?"

He pulled his wand and laid it against his fingers on her head, then removed them and tapped her. It fell away with a sweeping chill and she shook her head to push it away. Snape had gone back to the doorway and was watching the outside, as though he knew something was coming.

"Here," she said, holding the album out towards him.

Turning from the entrance, the dark-haired man looked then frowned at her. "What is that?"

"Some kind of token, I guess. For my honor and...whatnot." Awkwardly, Hermione jutted the album towards him, looking from her hand and back to him. He hesitated, then took it, turning it this way and that, an eyebrow raised at its unassuming form.

"This is your great token? A plain leather book...my faith has increased tenfold." he monotoned, tucking it away in his robes.

"It was my grandmother's. It means more to me than it's actually worth and it's the only thing of hers I still possess." she snapped, anger flitting about in her eyes.

Snape pursed his lips, but nodded. "I...I thank you. I will treasure it and return it when this is all over."

Calming down, Hermione walked past him to the opening in the wall and gazed outwards. "I should be able to send a patronus now. They'll know where to go."

When she turned to face him, she saw he was still where she had left him and his head was bent.

* * *

Already?

Time must hate him to the depth of its core. Take him back a day, two, let him relish in the time he had once more. Anything but this torture. Everything in him said to flee from this decision, to close the door on this moment and bid it come no closer. But he had no such power and the thoughts running through his head made him want to steal her away. Hope lingers with the hopeful and he had long since lost any vision of it.

Comparison after comparison, it mattered not in the end. This bushy haired girl-turned-woman had become the focal point of his existence. The old anchor he had cast off for useless when he was still a poor teen, lost and lonely, running to the dark to escape the dark. Lily had shattered his life and he had found solace within the black that was strong enough to urge the pain away. Now he faced one more moment he could not change; once he had decided on it. If he let her go now, she could leave him like Lily did. It was history repeated.

_Let her go_, his mind said, trying to be heard over his heart, _she is true_.

He heard her shuffle behind him and the seconds felt like an endless eternity. Holding his breath and closing his eyes, he dug in his robes to grab his wand. The wood felt cold to the touch, even within his clothing, and he shivered. He stretched his arm out to the side and to her. For a moment, it hovered midair, not a single thing touching it but his hand, and he felt a small amount of hope. But, just as he knew it would, her smaller hand came to it and it slid from his fingers with a cold finality.

He pressed on her mind to hear the message she would send and heard within her thoughts the words.

"The vine has broken. Send Charon to the Nest. I await you."

Just as the animal of light slipped out the open hole in the wall, his wand was gently placed in his hand. It didn't feel right and he stuffed it away to shake the feeling.

"Then it is done?" he asked, turning to see her once more.

* * *

Pressing her hair behind her ears, Hermione sighed and smiled up at Snape. She was finally going home. She almost didn't want to leave, but something felt wrong about wanting to stay. Though he had fed and clothed her, she could not forget who he was or what he had done. At least, something told her to remember. _Safety first_, she supposed. He had been nothing but kind to her, which was a few shades better than how he treated her at Hogwarts. It confused her and made her more apt to give him the benefit of the doubt. Besides, if he really did come through for the Light, he would be their greatest ally. Her eyes met Snape's and she smiled more.

"Thank you."

She thought he looked absurdly uncomfortable in an I-shall-not-be-moved kind of way.

"What for, may I ask?" his voice solidified her thoughts that he wasn't sure whether to scowl or to smile and it made her want to giggle.

"Helping me, bringing me back, feeding me. The clothes...everything. I'm sure dragging me into the King's maw would be an easier route than what is ahead, but I thank you for not taking it. We may have a chance to beat him for the final time."

"One step at a time lest you fall headfirst to your demise. We've yet to come together as a whole rebellion and if the state of them is as I guess, then the battle to usurp him is still farther off. There is no sense leading a bunch of half-starved cowards into a foray with highly trained killers. I want this rebellion to succeed, after all."

"They aren't cowards." she defended, her smile dropping to be replaced by pursed lips and a frown.

"You would see differently if you hadn't been captured by me. Do you really think Rodolphus would have given you a room in his home?" When she went to speak he carried on. "He would have locked you in the least used dungeon, calling you special and the princess of his home. He would apologize for the plain walls and beg profusely for forgiveness, then he would coax the paint out of you. Red, brown, yellow, any color the body can expel. He would wring you with all his might for days. So amid your own blood stains and human waste, you would never have been able to answer Kingsley's patronus. You would have hung there, dangling from invisible chains as that lynx came and went, knowing they would abandon you when you didn't respond. At first, you would understand...agree with them even. Then, after Rodolphus had had his fun and lovely Bella had grown weary of you, you would be less than a fraction of what you are now. Starved, cold and bleeding, you would wish for the refuge and for rescue. And the worst of it is, you will never really understand why they left you when all is said and done. Because in the end, all you would know is the excruciating pain as Bella drove you finally from madness to death."

She stood still, gazing at the floor as his words sank in. It rang true, she knew that much, but hearing it in such a way...it unnerved her. She hadn't really thought of herself in the capture scenarios. _I guess I thought I could take it_, she thought,_ that I was stronger than the torture_.

"The Order would leave you to that..." he made sure she met his eyes before continuing. "There are no greater cowards in this world than ones who leave their comrades to die. Until they prove otherwise, I will not give them my respect. Cravens make poor allies."

"Like you left us?" She whispered, remembering the moment the wards had fallen from Hogwarts and the end of their advantage had come.

"I didn't leave you." She didn't look at him, couldn't look at him. "I am no coward. I didn't leave you. I had no choice but to play my role as it had been written or I would have destroyed us all. If I had stood beside you, everything you have now would be gone. I hesitated to lower the wards, I gave you time to flee. I persuaded the King to wait another week, two, as long as I could. I kept every avenue open to you for as long as I could. I never deserted the Light."

Hermione shifted to her other foot, then snapped her head to the side to a noise she heard. It had to of been made deliberately as a second later, a whirling blue eye appeared. Limping as usual and with a smile crawling across his face, Moody slid into the hole. After warding the entrance, he turned back to her.

"Hermione, you lucky witch! Molly's been inconsolable since Longbottom returned and I've been stretched thin trying to cover all bases. We need to reexamine our methods if we're lost because we don't have you. It's quite disconcerting. Come here."

He pulled her forward and into a hug. She returned it with as much strength as she could. She couldn't remember a time when Moody had embraced anyone, much less her. He smelled like Firewhisky and bread, almost like home. It made her want to cry. When he let her go both his eyes were focused on her. She thought for a second they were teary, but one blink cleared them up. Emotion other than vigilance in Alastor Moody played on her heart and she hurried to pop the bubble before it grew too big.

"I'll have to go back."

He gazed at her with a confused expression but she could see the gears moving in his head.

"How did you send a patronus?" The smile was still hanging on his face, but his eyes whirled around and the blue one landed on a place behind her. She glanced back and saw nothing, but she knew Snape must have been back there, Disillusioned. "Ah. That's how."

Moody's wand was suddenly in his hand and he advanced, pushing her behind him. The air was full of tension and an angry magic licked out at them, crackling in the space between them. Murder was promised in the taste of the air. Hermione ran forward, shielding Snape or the space she supposed he was by the stare of Moody's blue eye.

"Wait! He's on our side!" she cried, jumping slightly when a large hand went about her middle and pulled her back, then to the side.

"Don't touch her, you filthy snake." Moody growled, stepping forward. The space wasn't big enough for this confrontation. Hermione laid her hand over the one at her waist and held it as she spun to Snape.

She found that he was visible again, his onyx orbs staring straight at Moody, his wand arm extended in defense. His black clad chest rose and fell slightly, his breath measured and his muscles tense to spring.

"Give me your wand." she whispered, meeting his eyes. "Give me your wand so you aren't a threat."

"What will stop him from hexing me to oblivion if I do? Your word?" his voice was nearly a growl as he glared at Moody who watched with curious alertness.

She brought their clasped hands to her chest. "I promised, remember? Just give me your wand. I won't let him attack you."

"Speak for yourself, Hermione. The Slayer in my hands and you think to protect him? He would not have done the same." Moody quipped, tightening his hold on his wand.

She ignored the man for a moment, holding Snape's hand and begging him with her eyes. She was not about to have all this go pear-shaped for some misunderstanding. Hermione knew why Moody was so on guard, but she had had the chance to see a different side of Snape and he had been her saving grace, the reason she even stood here right now. She refused to let him be destroyed just as they were being presented with a golden opportunity.

"Please," she said, squeezing his hand to match her words. "Trust me."

A second became two and birthed a third before anyone moved. Then Snape eased out of his defensive stance and sighed, pulling free his hand to place his wand in its place. He eyed it desperately for a moment, then closed her fingers around it and let her go.

"Thank you." she said, turning to Moody. "He's surrendered his wand. Is that enough?"

Coming forward with a shrewd eye on her, Moody lowered his wand. "Restrain him while you can, Hermione. We'll take him back to Erebus and interrogate him in a safe place." his voice was like steel and he sounded for all the world to be a general. His Head Auror days did not fade with time, it appeared.

It was only too easy to see what would happen if she complied. Moody saw the Slayer, not Snape, and Dumbledore's killer was the biggest boon they could ever receive so easily. Justice and a strike to the King Voldemort all in one. It sounded like a good plan, but this was a man's life they were talking about. Besides, Harry had told her once sometime in fifth year that perhaps Snape was not as bad as they had first supposed. That was before Sirius and the whole Malfoy situation their sixth year, of course. After all that, she knew he would not be so lenient or understanding.

"He's on our side. We have a chance to infiltrate the King's Court, Moody. We've been waiting for this." she replied, not hiding Snape's wand away. If anything, she lowered it to her side, well within the rightful owner's reach.

"We can't trust his word alone." the old Auror growled.

"Would you like me to swear? You had a penchant for oaths as well, I recall." Snape's voice had a knowing swagger to it, Hermione could imagine that he had a hand in his pocket and a cigar hanging from his lip. The image didn't mesh with her image of Snape and she shook her head.

"Full of yourself now that you're the King's puppet, aren't you?"

"Insults? A little childish for you, Alastor. Why not kneel and bind my hands now? Have me pledge my soul for your honor system and perhaps you'll be just as lucky as Albus to have a sworn soul to sever when I kill you, too."

A blaze of light flashed from Moody's wand and would have struck Snape between the eyes had Hermione not expected it. Vibrating before them, a shield deflected and vanquished the fiery spell.

"Stop baiting him, damn it!" she chided angrily, holding the shield but glaring back at Snape. "The purpose of this was to create another link to the inside. Squabbling like teenagers is not going to win any wars. This isn't Hogwarts and we are not children."

Both men grew silent and she let them stew for a second before dropping the shield.

"Can we agree not to rile each other for no other reason than to one-up ourselves?" When both men nodded, she lowered her wand arm. "What exactly do you want of Snape, Moody?"

"His death would be nice." At her look, he sighed. "An oath wouldn't be amiss, for starters."

"What type of oath?" she prompted, glancing back at Snape when he touched her shoulder.

"A binding one. Unbreakable is preferred." The electric blue eye rolled about, never lingering long on anything.

"What are your terms? What exactly do you want him to swear?" she pressed, crossing her arms before her.

"Swear to serve the Light faithfully. Swear to give the Order all the information he can gather. Swear to protect you with his own life if needs be. I'd have him swear to never kill again, but we may need that lack of restraint for his fellows." Moody conjured his cane and leaned on it, looking tired but no less alert.

"I can protect myself, Moody. You don't need to have him swear to that." she said, looking back to Snape to see his reaction to the other stipulations. He didn't look as though he had even heard them. He met her eyes for a scant second, then he was withdrawn again.

"I don't care if you can float without a wand, I want his oath to include your well being. His position is secure as long as his loyalty appears to be. You, on the other hand, could be struck down for one wrong word. I won't let this pass without assurance that he will risk his own sorry life for you. You deserve that much conviction from him." The stare he directed at her made her feel very safe. Her father looked like that every time he dropped her off at King's Cross.

"I'll swear." A deep baritone voice muttered behind her and she blinked. She had nearly forgotten he was there. Shaking herself from memories of childhood and her parents, she uncrossed her arms and sighed.

"You'll need to do the honors, Hermione." Moody moved forward and seemed conflicted about continuing through until Snape took his hand and gazed back to her.

Swallowing and stepping forward, Hermione laid the tip of Snape's wand on their clasped hands. She nodded to the dark-haired man, then at the old Auror. The blue eye swivelled to Snape's face then back to random spots around the room; the hard brown eye stayed locked to the unreadable black orbs across from him. The scarred face of the older man scrunched up, then he scowled. The former Potions Professor-turned-Headmaster's face did not change; he remained stoic and slightly bored.

"Will you, Severus Snape, swear to uphold the beliefs of the Light, to loyally serve the Light and to assist those of the Light, even though you must hide it before the King and his followers?" her voice was grave and the seriousness of the situation perforated the air around them. She watched Snape closely and couldn't detect even a hint of uncertainty.

"I will." The ribbon of white flame slithered out of the black wand and wrapped itself around their hands.

"And will you swear to deliver any information you collect that would profit the Light to a specified member of the Light, whether it be good or bad, new or old, here or elsewhere?"

"I will." Another ribbon of flame wove itself around the places the first had missed.

"And..." she began, but she hesitated. Gulping past her own desire to cast out this part, she looked down and continued. "Will you swear to protect me, Hermione Jane Granger, to the best of your abilities," She was poised to wrap it up then and there, but Moody glared at her to add more. "and to sacrifice your own life, if need be, to ensure I survive this rebellion and masquerade against the King on the Throne of Bodies?"

She gazed upwards and met the searing black orbs of Severus Snape. His face was morphed suddenly with some unknown emotion and he nodded.

"I will."

The third and final tongue of flame joined the others and seemingly absorbed into the joined hands. As the light faded, the moment ended and both men stepped back, letting their hands separate quickly. Hermione didn't feel like anything had been resolved, it felt like they had made it worse. She stood in the exact same spot, rooted almost to the scene of the crime. Snape's voice broke her out of her trance and he gently removed his wand from her loose grip.

"Are we finished here?" he asked, adjusting his silver cuff link and scowling at everything. "I am Headmaster of a rather prestigious school. Perhaps you've heard of it?" His tone was lifeless but the sarcasm floated through every syllable.

Alastor Moody seemed to blow smoke out of his ears as he harrumphed. "Hermione, let's leave the Slayer to his school. The rest would like to see you safe behind refuge walls."

"Yes, hurry along,_ Hermione_." Snape purred, his dark eyes flashing with an unreadable gleam. "But be sure they all know winter approaches. Sooner than they'd like." Without another word, he spun on the spot and vanished.

"How soon is that?" Moody asked, his brown eye narrowing.

"The King's Yule Ball." she murmured, working her way to the entrance of this hideout.

"A week?!" came a loud growl behind her. "We have to return you to the Slayer in a week?" she spun to look at him. If possible, he had turned maroon with rage.

"I must be Persephone Damasca, a pureblood heir from a luckless family. The King has requested my presence at the Ball from a memory he saw in Snape's mind. I was as angry as I suppose you are now, but I figured out the gift it was. With Snape's help, I'll be in the King's court with access to not only the king, but his lords. We will have a chance we've never had before. You've been screaming _Constant Vigilance_ at us for years, open_ your_ eyes for once. He swore to us and before that he saved me when he could have turned me in. If he's found out, he could be killed."

"Oh, do you care now? Three days and you've turned traitor for the bastard of Hogwarts."

"Don't pretend you've never done anything wrong or killed anyone. You've taken your fair share of lives." she replied, anger rising in her chest. _How dare he_, she thought.

"I didn't kill the Light!" he barked, slamming his cane into the floor so it snapped and he tossed the pieces aside.

A ball of fury boiled up to her lips and she couldn't stop it. "He killed _Dumbledore_!" she barked back. "He was one man. One man is not the Light, one man is not the rebellion. Not Dumbledore, not Harry, not you, not me. Without the whole of us, every single person who lives to fight the King, this rebellion does not exist. I will not let our one chance pass by for your idealistic righteousness. Dumbledore won't rise to save us, we have to save ourselves. And if that means I have to hold hands with the King himself to save the Light, don't be surprised to see us walking hand-in-hand. The Light is us all, Moody. Even traitors, murderers and sneering Headmasters."

And for the first time since the events at the Tower, she felt something other than defeat at the thought of Harry in that bed in their shabby excuse for a Mungo's. For once, she felt a little hope.

* * *

**A/N:** I wanted Hermione to grow from being hopeless because Harry was out of commission to realizing that it takes more than one person to make up a rebellion. After all, Dumbledore's Army and the Order of the Phoenix were comprised of many people gathering together for the same cause. Also, I don't really like oaths of any form, but I felt it would happen regardless because sometimes characters don't give a damn what you think and they sort of dictated what was going to happen in this chapter. Also also, does anyone know how one is meant to be done with an Unbreakable Vow? I'm sure Severus didn't have to keep protecting Draco after the whole Dumbledore task was complete. That means this oath will be complete when Voldemort is defeated, right? Just wanted to know what you thought about the whole thing. Tickle2Kill.


	12. Trying Times

~*~Trying Times~*~

"There is _pride_ and there is _invitation_, learn the difference." Alastor Moody snapped at her for the fourth time.

Standing in the middle of the now empty dining room of Grimmauld Place, Hermione sighed and forced her shoulders back to the desired position.

Moody had been at her small cottage door around lunchtime, knocking with his newly conjured cane and shouting her name. Groggy, angry and ready to punch someone, she had nearly ripped the door off its hinges. He had merely let himself in without permission and turned to her with a gleam of wickedness in his mismatched eyes.

"You don't know the first thing about Death Eaters," he had told her, his scarred mouth curved up in a grin of triumph. "Nor do you know how to hold the Dark King's hand, much less do it effectively. If you're determined to walk this road, I've got much to teach you."

The next thing she knew, he was carting her south down _Circe's_ _Pestle_ then east on _Merlin's_ _Wand_ then southeast and onward still on _Dolliver's_ _Vial_ the street on which Grimmauld Place was located. He had cleared the room and set about making her a proper pureblood heiress and Death Eater.

When she had come back to the refuge she had been spirited into the briefing room and Moody had called up the main number. There she had retold what had happened and what they were going to have to do. Moody let her go to her house afterwards, but she had made a detour to make sure Neville wasn't beating himself up and to remove his mask. Polzin had found a wand for her, but it wasn't like her old one. He wondered if she could ask Snape to take her to Ollivander's when she came back. Then she went to the Weasleys and made a circuit of the refuge to reassure everyone she was still alive. Ron had been out gathering information and she hasn't seen him before she went to sleep.

Moody had told her that appearances were the first test of many, conducted by the pureblood society. The way one laid down a handkerchief could be considered as an insult in certain company. Oh, how she loathed to insult the refined murderers and ruthless housewives. Then there were the powers of suggestion; the way one said me could mean a host of things, from praise to disgust, from hope to despair. Also, the way one used the eyes, to watch without seeming suspicious, to smile without looking uncomfortable. On and on, different ways to speak, to threaten, to soothe, to wound. Even the way she laughed could be misconstrued by the dullest of pureblood eyes.

It seemed to Hermione that she was in better company among the unsavory cut-throat beggars of Knockturn than to brave the waters of Pureblood civility.

"Why does it matter how I stand?" she questioned, watching Moody as he circled her, tapping an ankle here and a wrist here, muttering about her lack of grace.

"Body language is one of the most recognizable languages in the world. The pureblood witches and wizards are fluent in this, more fluent than I can ever make you in a week. But, since I've spoken to a few of our more educated members, I've found you a saving grace. The Damasca family's lack of social appearance and the public's lack of knowledge about them can be both a plausible cover for your lack of know-how and an endearment. Use this when you find yourself lost...but _keep_ _your_ _shoulders_ _straight_!"

A hard thwack fell on her shoulder blades and she flinched. "I'm trying, damn it!" she cursed, glaring back at Moody.

"Oh, were you? I can still see Hermione Granger lingering in your anger. I can still see Hermione Granger in the set of your shoulders and the way you arrange your legs, your arms. Do you think they won't see right through your ruse with that petulant pout?" his voice was soft and his brown eye didn't seem so harsh.

"What do you want from me?" she asked, relaxing her shoulders and gazing at him searchingly.

"I want don't want anything from you. I want everything from Persephone."

"Snape said he is going to have Narcissa Malfoy come to help me."

"Well, the more the merrier."

"He also said to investigate the Damasca family. There could possibly a real Persephone."

"No need." Moody muttered, eying her posture. "She's dead."

"What? How do you know that?" She spun to look at him as he had drifted behind her.

"I knew her family back when her father was a Death Eater in the First War. She was very sickly and she eventually died. You'll be fine."

"Aren't there records of her death?"

"No." He said simply and whacked her again.

"How do you know?"

"Enough questions." And he proceeded to regal her with more critiques.

Feeling bruised, sore and ready to crash into her bed for the rest of the week, Hermione stumbled down Merlin's Wand to Edna's Bakery. The woman had a new batch in the oven and the smell wafted through the air, draping the world like a blanket. It made her unbearably hungry. She had skipped breakfast after the events in the Rat's Nest, unable to stand the sight of oatmeal when she was so unsettled. Something bad was going to happen, she felt it in her bones. Maybe she was being a worrywart and nothing would happen, or maybe she was foreseeing the future outcome...either way she wished she could eat without wondering if it would come back to say hello just a half hour later.

Ron had the day off from the bakery but he was waiting outside for her, his cheeks and jaw rough with a few days stubble. It was as red as his cropped hair and bristly. He stood up from the cafe-like outdoor seating and went to hug her before she'd even crossed the street.

He smelled like bread and chocolate and she wanted to laugh. Everyone smelled like bread to her...perhaps that was the signature smell of the refuge. The Bread Rebellion, she thought and smiled at Ron. The hair on his head had been cut short recently, it was no longer than an inch long, layered and carelessly styled. He couldn't have done anything to it but rolled over in bed and scratched his head.

"Thank Merlin! When Neville said you'd been taken I was certain you were going to either be dead or that you were going to be tortured beyond sanity. Moody sent me out to a contact to find out what had happened because Neville said the Slayer took you. He's known as a bit ruthless with his prisoners. Can't have been true, could it? Look at you, you look fine." He said all of this in a rush but his blue eyes betrayed his fear.

She smiled more at him, "We should get something to eat and talk with Harry. I don't think everyone needs to hear this."

"Yeah." He glanced around and narrowed his eyes at anyone who dared be out at four in the afternoon.

_As open as an unlocked door,_ she thought, watching how he became defensive in his stance and bearing, sending out the signals of his mood. _This is a prime example of what I must not do._

Hide behind the gestures and body-speech, Moody had told her, leave the emotions here with us. Now that she saw what he meant, she understood completely.

* * *

Harry's room was slightly different. Flowers had been rearranged and the covers on his bed were Gryffindor red with little golden lions reared at each other. When Hermione asked after it, Ron told her that Molly had made it just last week and had only just gotten around to putting it on Harry's bed. They had passed Ginny in one of the halls on their way up and she said she'd be back with some pumpkin juice to drink. Last time they had shared lunch, she had also brought applesauce; Hermione hoped she would again. Three roast beef sandwiches from Edna's and now the rest from Ginny and they'd have a meal. It's all she would have for the rest of the day.

Harry had been freshly washed and dressed, his face shaved back to smoothness as well. Ginny said she didn't like the look of him there, his beard growing and growing, like the old men in stories who sat waiting on maids or wizards with their beards getting longer until they died and you learn that they'd been duped. It made her nervous, she'd said. Ron passed her and went to Harry's bed, grabbed his hand and patted his shoulder, muttering something in his ear and he laughed.

"What'd you say?" Hermione asked, setting the bag with the food on a table she'd cleared off.

"When he wakes, if he remembers, he can tell you." Ron swung the chair around and was about to plop in it when Ginny came in, summoning it out from under him. He made a loud Oof! when his behind met the floor and both women laughed at him. Ginny conjured two more chairs and helped Ron to his feet. "Not funny." he whined, a hand to his mouth. "I bit my tongue!"

"Good," Ginny said, laying the drinks and things on the small table. "Maybe now we won't have to hear you speak."

Ron muttered angrily at them until Hermione brought the food out of the bag. Each person had a thin beef sandwich with applesauce, and a tall pumpkin juice. As they set it all out and gathered around to eat, Ginny sighed.

"At least we'll be able to live off apples and bread. Those don't seem to be in short supply." She sounded rather down, but determined to be cheery.

Ron gazed over their meager meal and smiled. "If Edna's making bread and Sprout keeps the trees in order, I'm not sure I mind."

"This from the man who eats like a locust horde?"

"Eh! I've lost twenty pounds of fat and have more muscle in my little finger than you do in your whole body, sis. I think I'm doing rather well." Ron quipped, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

"More muscle in your head, more like." his sister mumbled into her drink, taking a dainty bite of her sandwich.

Laughing at the pair, Hermione swirled her applesauce and took one bite up to her mouth. It tasted divine. She was content not to say anything, to just sit here and pretend things were back to normal. That Dumbledore lived somewhere and Harry was just recovering from another Quidditch wound. She ate her food slowly, trying not to let that vision make her cry. Sometimes it was nice to dream that this had never happened and that all of it would return when she next opened her eyes...though it never did.

As she set aside her small cup of applesauce and reached for her sandwich, Ron cleared his throat. "So...what happened?"

She didn't answer right away as she wasn't sure if he was talking to her, but soon he tapped her hand. Looking up, Hermione realized that both of the siblings were watching her closely. Her sandwich turned to ash in her mouth and she let it plop back to the table. She stalled, making a show of wiping her mouth and hands with a napkin. When she knew she couldn't hold them off any longer, she sighed.

"What do you want to know?"

The floodgates opened and they both threw questions out at her.

"The Slayer?", "What did he do to you?", "What did he look like?", "What did he say?", "How'd you get free?", "Did you kick him in the...?", "Bollocks, Hermione! How'd you stand it?", "Did he wear that stupid mask?", "Neville said Lestrange was there...", "Did you kick his...", "Arsehole! I hope you made him bleed. Did you?"

Shaking her head, Hermione held up her hands. "One at a time! I can't even hear them, let alone answer them."

Ginny was first. "What was he like, Hermione? He can't have stayed bat-like, could he? Not after four years as the King's boot-licker."

"No, he was...healthy." She wasn't sure what to tell them. She didn't feel right about insulting him now.

"Healthy? That bastard doesn't deserve health, much less life." Ron said, looking over at Harry.

Ginny followed suit, her lips making a weird curve, as though she wasn't sure if she wanted to smile or frown. Silence reigned for a moment, then Ron remembered that it was his turn to ask.

"How'd you get free? He can't of let you walk away. Moody said you didn't have your wand 'cause he broke it." He sounded angry in her stead and she squeezed his arm.

"He did break my wand when he took me, but...it...it was different when he got my mask off."

"Oh, did you kick his arse?" Ron asked and Ginny elbowed him sharply.

Hermione looked away and bit her lip, she didn't know what to say. Ginny pulled her closer and gave her a one-armed hug. "What's wrong?"

"He...he let me go." Fell from her lips softly. "He unchained me when he found out who I was and fed me, clothed me, let me stay in his house. He was going to buy me a wand to replace the one he broke and he...he let me go. He let me cast a patronus with his wand and took me all the way to the Nest. He swore to Moody and...he let me go." her voice wavered with both uncertainty and slight fear.

She felt like Ron would flay her if he ever found out what she thought now. Instead, he came around and hugged her other side. "He was trying to get back into our ranks so he could feed us all to the King. He's a good dog to his true master."

Hermione pulled out of Ron's arms and Ginny's as well, leaning back in her chair and meeting both their eyes. "It's not like that. He could have killed me. I never told him the truth by torture, because he didn't hurt me. He never laid a wrong hand on me beyond the moment of capture. When he saw my face, he broke down. He's been in the King's pocket all these years and we let him be. He never abandoned us, we abandoned him." She clamped her lips shut on her own voice and blinked. What on earth did I just say?

Ginny frowned and Ron snorted. "Abandoned him? He killed Dumbledore and had as much hand in this as Bellatrix." He waved back at Harry's prone form, a tiny angry frown on his brow.

"He was sworn to kill Dumbledore. He even told Moody." she defended, looking from eye to eye. Ginny didn't so much as blink, much less speak.

"Of course he told you that. It was a lie, all he says is a lie." Ron countered.

"So if he said Weasleys have red hair and that I'm muggleborn, he'd be lying?" she asked, glaring at Ron.

"No! But he lied to both of you. He'll find a way to slither out this oath just like any others he made. I'd like to choke him with Veritaserum, see what lies he can tell then."

"Enough for you to know the truth. He swore an Unbreakable Vow, and no matter what we've said about it, you can't break that vow without dying! He swore to Dumbledore that he would kill him and he's still alive. He swore that he would serve the light, help the light and protect me when I have to go back...!" she made to say more, but both the siblings jolted up to standing, fury, fear and confusion all over their features.

"Go back?!" Ginny screeched, her face a morph of fear and anger. Her brother had the same look and his blue eyes blazed just as bright as his sister's brown.

"I...I..." she stuttered, unable to form words. Their sudden fierceness strangled the oxygen from her own anger.

"But you just got back! You can't go back to that bastard. What's Moody thinking?" Ron stomped out without waiting for an answer.

Ginny didn't even move to stop him, and advanced on her friend with a frown so fearsome Hermione retreated. "You're going back? That man killed Dumbledore, didn't save Harry, and turned his back on us! You say he swore to help us, but is that the only way he'll make himself useful? Does he have to have his life tied to his wand to make a difference? If you go back to him, you'll die just like everyone else he's 'helped'. I won't let you, Hermione. I don't care if he jumps in front of a Killing Curse to defend you, if you're with the King, there'll be twenty wands to his one. It won't happen." She vanished around the corner just as her brother had and left Hermione in the room with Harry, who never ceased to slumber.

Gloria wandered by and looked into the room with a curious smile. "Is everything alright?"

Hermione shook her head softly, then left the food and the room, not following the siblings, but not staying in the hospital.

* * *

"You great fool!" Ron yelled, punching Moody across the face with his full weight behind it, his own face red with anger.

He'd stomped all the way to Grimmauld Place and burst into what appeared to be a secret meeting; only ten people were in attendance. His mother was to the right of his father and his eldest brother, Bill, was to his left at one end of the table. Bill's wife, Fleur, was sitting to his brother's left. Kingsley was at the head of the table, standing over scattered pages of information. Headmistress McGonagall was standing to his right, looking over the papers with him. Professor Flitwick was chatting amiably with Samantha from Mungo's. His old Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Lupin, was standing with Kingsley and McGonagall. They all looked on in shock of his action.

Remus came to his side to restrain him. "Ron, what's going on?"

"That ruddy bastard is sending Hermione back to the Slayer! He's giving her to the King." Lupin slowly let him go and Ron rolled his shoulders to right his clothing.

"We know, Ron." His mother said in a soft voice, an understanding smile on her face. "Snape swore to Moody. It's a chance we can't...can't pass up." She seemed to doubt herself at the last part and looked away, crying.

"What?" he asked, confusion making his voice sound small. "You...you're letting it happen?"

Ginny had come in behind him, he felt her at his side and she was gaping at their mother when he gazed over his shoulder. "You can't be." she said, looking on the verge of tears.

"It's an opportunity we will never get again. She has the ability now to infiltrate his Court, something we have been trying to accomplish since Dumbledore fell." Moody explained, massaging his jaw.

"Dumbledore fell at his hand, Mad-Eye, or don't you remember?" Ron yelled, waving off Remus when he went to restrain him again.

"Of course, I remember, boy! We all remember. Do you have another way of getting into the King's Court?"

"No, but..."

"And do you have a better way of learning the King's secrets than this?" Moody pressed.

"No. That's not the point, Moody." Ron tried to reason, but he was cut off again.

"And do people break Unbreakable Vows without dying?"

Ron grit his teeth and looked to all of them, but they offered no help. Angry and slightly embarrassed, he bowed his head. "No. But this is Hermione's life. I won't trust this murderer with her life."

"He swore to lay his on the line in defense of hers. He swore to me in the Nest that he would aid us and protect her with his very life." Moody told him, his face a ragged mask of irritation.

"And you trust him?" Ron countered, his face growing redder.

"No, but I trust magic and he vowed before myself and Hermione. She's returning whether you like it or not and it was her decision. If it bothers you so much, go take it up with her. It's not my responsibility to calm you down like a wet nurse. Get out of my war room or be thrown out." Moody turned away from him and all others did as well. Even his mother returned to the maps and pictures of Death Eaters grinning at the room, cracked teeth and bleeding lips.

His anger flooded through his veins like lava and left a coppery taste in his mouth. He had a moment of clarity as he stood at the door, watching his own family sending Hermione to the gallows and let them go. Her death, Merlin forbid if it happened, was on their hands. He spun on the spot and left, Ginny in tow.

* * *

Lavender Brown was ensconced in her fluffiest knit sweater and sweat pants, curled up tight with the Witch's Weekly she'd filched off a counter in a scavenging mission two weeks past. It irked her beyond belief that she had to sit here and flip through dusty old pages, when half the world outside could reap the benefits of freshly printed editions. Oh, how she longed for the scent of a new magazine.

Her favorite tea was steeping in a delicately designed cup that she'd crafted herself, weaving her namesake color into the golds and ivory whites. The smell of it calmed her self-centered anger and she allowed herself to giggle at the thoughts she had just had. The whole world gone mad and she finds the lack of new gossip rags to be the biggest slight. She flipped to page twelve where there was an article about the positive effect of a new law the King was putting into action. It detailed how the monitoring of half-blood and muggleborn children would benefit the King's power as he planned to take them in, a ploy for good guy points she wagered, and train them properly to serve, under the supervision of trained pureblood wizards.

Sounded all sunshine and rainbows, but he never mentioned what would happen after that. She had a nagging feeling that it wouldn't be good.

She leaned forward and took a slow sip of her tea. The cinnamon exploded in her mouth and she hummed at it. It was wonderful.

A knock sounded across her small cottage and she perked up, interested. She was supposed to be free for another day at least. Lavender stood and laid her magazine on the couch, fussing over her hair on the way to the door. Ron hadn't been around in a while.

She paused at the mirror by her door and checked her image. Her hair was tousled, which took her most of the morning when she couldn't quite get it to layabout right. Her lips were dry and she hurriedly wet them, pinching her cheeks and pressing her breasts to give them optimal height. When she was sure she looked delectable, she answered the door.

_I hope it's Ron_, she thought, grabbing the doorknob,..._and it's not_.

Her shoulders fell and she could almost feel her hair deflate. Alastor Moody was on the other side of the door, looking at her with a strained half-smile. He wore his customary thick leathery cloak, with an old, long-sleeved burgundy blouse beneath and a pair of black rough wool trousers that tucked into even older dragon-hide boots.

"Lavender." he muttered softly and she smirked at him.

"Hey, Moody. What can I do you for?" she shrugged off the fact that he wasn't Ron and invited him in. She thought she saw his brown eye glance at her shoulder but the next second he was passing her to get inside the house.

"We'll need your talents for an upcoming mission. It's extremely important." he found a place on the couch and sniffed at her tea before pulling out his flask and taking a swig.

"Oh? Who needs a disguise?" she sat back in her seat and took another sip.

"It's a long story." he relaxed into the cushions and closed his eyes. Well, one was closed, the other rolled around sluggishly.

Lavender smiled and cradled her tea to her mouth, waiting. After a couple minutes, it became apparent that her guest had fallen asleep. He was snoring softly, his lips slack and his hands fallen to his sides. She laughed to herself and poked him with her toes. He jerked awake and suddenly his wand was pointed at her, but she looked at him with a curious smirk that made him falter.

"You should sleep more, Moody. You're running yourself ragged."

"I won't be getting much sleep anymore. Much less than usual." he said, hunching forward over his knees and stretching out his bad leg. It creaked, popped, and he sighed. "Hermione got taken by the Slayer."

She nodded knowingly. "I'd heard. What are we going to do?"

Lavender had never had the best relationship with Hermione Granger; they had been at each others throats secretly since the whole Ron triangle in sixth year. But after the events of the infamous tower, no one could really choose the people they were friends with. Everyone who had survived were thrown into the refuge in a giant mush, forced to support the next man or woman just as much as they supported themselves. She and Ron had been looped together and over time all of them had meted out an amiable relationship. The news that Hermione had been taken shocked her and she had hoped for her safe return. Friends or not, she would never wish harm on Hermione. Not now.

"Nothing."

Frowning, Lavender set her tea aside. "What do you mean nothing?" she choked back the anger that rose in her chest.

"She's back. The Slayer returned her to us." Moody took another swallow from his flask and didn't put it back.

"Returned her? He just walked her back unharmed?" The disbelief couldn't be hidden in her voice and she eyed the man across from her with a suspicious glare.

"Exactly. He's sworn to help us with this rebellion. He made an Unbreakable Vow to me with Hermione as the witness. He's officially a turncoat to the King. And...Hermione is going to masquerade as his...paramour." The weight in his voice was palpable and he brushed his face with his scarred hand.

"Hermione...as the Slayer's lover?!" She downed her tea and summoned a Firewhisky. "I have to disguise Hermione as...?"

"A pureblood heiress from a very private family. She's supposed to be beautiful...which she already is to be sure, but she has to be pureblood beautiful. I asked Minerva what Icarys Damasca looked like and she said he had chestnut hair and milky skin. He was a handsome boy, she heard, though not exactly a deft hand with a broom. Which could run in the family and ensure our dear Hermione doesn't need to fly on one. Save her the trouble." Moody swigged once, then twice.

"When does she need to be ready?" Lavender asked, uncorking the Firewhisky.

"By the end of the week."

She tipped the bottle into her mouth instead of her cup.

* * *

Two days had passed since the encounter in Harry's room and neither Ron nor Ginny had come to speak to her. It seemed both were so busy they could not talk to her and Edna could never find Ron when he was off. Samantha gave her a glare when she asked after Ginny and Hermione had read that quickly enough.

They seemed so ready to ship me back to Snape and this plan, but now that it's happening before them, they resent me for it. What exactly did they want me to do? Stand behind refuge walls and chat with the King? It isn't possible.

She had taken to saying 'Voldemort' in her head since it was Taboo'd out in the world and could not be said without consequence. When Moody had asked what she was thinking about during a lesson this morning she had told him her habit. The anger and fear that had overcome his face had scared and confused her, but he explained.

"Should the King look into your mind with you unawares, he would see his first chosen moniker blaring out at him with all the insolence of the rebellion. He is the King to purebloods and a King he should be in your mind."

After a bit of struggle, she forced herself to think, 'The King', whenever he was mentioned.

Moody had hammered in all the major points of his lessons, making sure she knew the way to become a pureblood heiress. Once he'd told her they were done for the day, he sent her to Lavender Brown, who lived down Roux Rue from Bill and Fleur. Roux Rue was named for its red terracotta roofs that infused this part of the refuge with a Spanish-style flair.

Hermione hadn't been to Lavender's place since last spring, when they had a party there for a successful scavenging mission. It seemed like a million years ago. The door still had a small painting of a crystal ball over the peephole. She climbed the five shorts steps to the door and knocked twice. She didn't hear any noise behind the door save a rustle and scratch when the slight breeze they'd bewitched the refuge to have made a branch scrape a window. Then, as though sprouting in the doorway, Lavender was there with a soft smile.

"Hey, Hermione! Come on in." The other woman waved her in and she could smell apple cider somewhere. "I've just finished setting up. Would you like some cider?"

Hermione nodded with a smile. "I'll take some, thanks."

"Cider's no trouble, it's what comes after." Her voice faded as she went into the kitchen and Hermione wandered toward the couch.

She could barely remember what this place looked like last spring so she couldn't find anything familiar in the decorations. The trinkets on the coffee table reminded her of something she'd seen before in the girl's dorms in Gryffindor Tower, but she couldn't remember what. The carpet that covered what wasn't wood floor was the color of healthy green grass and soft when she reached down to touch it. The walls were off-white, perhaps mother-of-pearl or polished ivory. All the furniture was made of strong oak and lacquered to shine. It was a comfy place, she could not deny.

"Here you are." Lavender handed her a cup of hot cider and Hermione drank it gladly. "So, captured by the Slayer and preparing to be thrown back to the mob a week later. What possessed you?"

Hermione smiled softly. "It's as close to an opening as we're going to get. He swore before me and Moody, that's got to stand for something." She didn't know if she was convincing Lavender or herself.

"I hope so. Don't get killed for this 'opening', 'Mione. It's not worth it."

"If I can help destroy the King, it's worth even more." she said and took another drink.

"I knew you'd say that." Lavender gave her a worried frown. "Just be careful, you hear? We may not be the best of friends, but I want to see you back here alive. Got that?"

Hermione stood and crossed the small living room to hug the woman. "Thanks, Lav."

"Now," the blond-haired woman said, sniffing back the wetness around her eyes. "let's see about this disguise, Miss Persephone."

* * *

**A/N: **I tried to get this one done as quickly as possible. Thank you to all that reviewed. Much more to come! Tickle2Kill.


	13. Masquerade

~*~Masquerade~*~

A week, a _bloody_ week.

He had lived years that didn't seem so long. The school was a right mess, thanks to the shoddy employees he had had to hire per the King's request. He supposed it would be too much to ask that he have his own pick of the litter and hire _qualified_ instructors. The twin gargoyle bookends called Amycus and Alecto weren't worth their weight in blast-ended skrewts much less reliable teachers. They were more apt to plunder and torture than to teach anything but fear and dissension.

The loss of both Filius Flitwick and Minerva McGonagall had dealt quite a blow to his paid roster, and no Professor Binns could make up for it. He sorely missed his former colleagues, in and out of their duties as Professors. He had no one worth speaking to in the Staff Room and it drove him mad to sit and twiddle his thumbs while he waited for the week to be up. The students, or the bulk of them, had gone home for the impending holidays, leaving the school bare and quiet.

Before he would have wished for this moment, but the torment of waiting through this silence was almost too much to bear. It was odd how wonderful that endless prattle had been and how he longed for it to ease his mind. This festive season did not help but to add weight to the snail of time, adding a sickly sense of merriment in a tattered, empty castle. _Garland and mistletoe for the ghosts_, he growled within himself. He had always hated Christmas, he was known for it. Back when this school meant something and he was not such a known someone, he had never celebrated this holiday, much less any other. Besides, of course, the false rumors of secret Halloween parties(which most the students thought was his favorite as they still secretly thought him to be a vampire).

He never saw the point.

Gifts you'd forget about by the end of January if you were lucky, food you'd come to regret years later when arthritis took hold of your joints and the jolly weight you acquired aided your foe: gravity. Relationships you forged in the winter madness, cooped up in stifling rooms with views of only pale expanses with little but the darkened tips of trees to break the endlessness...all would fall by the melting hour and nothing good would remain. Happy folks and best of friends, no matter the picture you painted of them in the frozen darkness, the spring would always wash them away. He had watched the downward slide of holiday cheer and none of it was for him.

Severus had gone down to breakfast in the Great Hall, much in the mind to drown himself in pumpkin juice and greet the little children, but only five were there to sit with him and two did not speak. There were two second-year students who remained at school also, but they were holed up in the library. He sat in the Headmaster's chair, with a small round table before him, hollow in the middle like a donut and quiet as the grave his mother laid in. A low wood trencher sitting opposite him on the table, was full of an odd mixture that smelled like peanut butter and jelly, and there was a big bowl of steaming eggs to his right. His left hand was privileged to be dining with Sir Pumpkin Juice and in between there was sausage and hot rolls and muffins with blueberries baked into them. The smells were amazing, but his stomach roiled even as he spread the swirling concoction on his toast. He took a cautious bite and his lips curled at the taste.

_Yes_, he thought, setting it back on his plate with a grimace. _Peanut butter and jelly spread._

The house elves were soured after he became Headmaster and would throw out new inventions to tempt, or sicken, the hosts they served. He'd endured cheese-filled pastries coated in strawberry icing, chicken that tasted like fish and vice versa, green beans that wriggled like worms and earwax-flavored butterbeer. It was their way of getting back, he supposed, for all the threats the Bookends had made over time. He never did care enough to change their vicious minds.

He ate more of the sausage piled on his plate and wondered what Hermione was doing. Was she eating a sorry breakfast with her rebellion? Their rebellion, he must remember. Was she happily chatting with that damn Weasley clan and bemoaning the time of 'captivity'? Could she possibly be waiting for him, too? Would she look like he remembered or would she have changed somehow? _In a week_, _Severus_, he scolded himself, _really_?

_It's been six days so far_, _one more and I shall see her again,_ came a far more reasonable, albeit romantic, thought. The thing hit him with nary a warning and he felt his annoyance rise.

With a snarl of distaste at himself being clogged in his face muscles, he must have looked a sight. Severus wiped his mouth with a napkin and looked to all the children. He took a calming breath and cleared his throat to speak. The children did not even glance upwards. The two silent ones carried on an 'eyes-only' conversation and slowly guided half-filled forks to their mouths. The other three were so diverse it seemed improbable that they attended school here, much less that they could not go home for the holiday.

Simon Prahlerei and Sarla Prahlerei, the silent twins. He looked to them and watched them for a moment. Their mother had married into the King's Court and they had begun to reap the benefits of it, but they never spoke, not to anyone aside from each other. Dark of hair and dark of eye, they were like two shadows, but their pale skin and thin frames made them appear to be ghosts.

_Brightly clothed ghosts, not a grey in sight_, he thought and it was true. They were both Hufflepuff, which baffled him as they were some of his most intelligent, and they sported their house color proudly. Various shades of yellow adorned them, from Simon's ruffled saffron turtleneck and goldenrod trousers, to Sarla's amber and mustard robes which brushed her shiny black Mary Janes. Simon wore black shoes with saffron laces to match his turtleneck and Sarla wore a black cloak over her thin shoulders. Simon's cloak was folded beside him with a book atop it.

He looked then to the three-at-odds and watched them in turn. Olivia Kysely, the brat. Olivia had no standing within any book, not even her mother's, but her father was the one with money and he spoiled her rotten with things she didn't deserve. She had an upturned nose that gave off the air that she looked down on everything and everyone, which she did.

Her eyes were a little too far apart for his taste and reminded him of a fish, especially when someone insulted her and she gaped. Her rosy cheeks were round and puffy and would have been cute on a kinder face, but it seemed like a mockery on hers. Olivia had pixie short white-blond hair done up with bangs that fell into her watery blue eyes and pigtails that wriggled like worms when she laughed. She wore proper witch robes of powder blue and bronze, though she belonged in Slytherin and the blue was too bright for Ravenclaw.

Beside her, and a completely different creature to behold, was Wesley Warsummit, an orphan boy with the kindest hazel eyes he'd ever seen. Wesley was long, thin and drawn for his age, more of a man than a child. In sixth year and lost among the folds of better wizards, Severus could only remember that he wanted to be a healer. He even wore the lime green robes in hopes, he guessed, of looking the part. His dark cheeks were hollow, his deep eyes inviting and he had the softest voice. The wild mop of golden hair on his head added to the softness of his face. Wesley was in Hufflepuff.

A couple seats over from Wesley and Olivia, was Amar Javo, a mystery all his own. He had only come to Hogwarts on a transfer and two days after Icarys' incident. With all the craziness over a dead child, he had mostly gone unnoticed and seemed to fare fine with that arrangement. His skin was the color of russet and his eyes were green and quick, looking at everything and nothing all at once. He wore blatantly defiant attire, a pair of loose muggle jeans and trainers, with a Gryffindor red shirt that read _Proud_ in shiny white letters.

Something about Amar's attire gave him pause and he stared for a moment as he read the message there. _Defiant_, he thought, _and proud to be_.

"Mister Javo, what are you wearing?" he asked and the table grew quiet. The boy in question finished masticating a small bite of toast and met Severus' eyes.

"Clothing, Headmaster. What else does one wear?" the honesty in the reply could be taken as sarcasm but the sincerity of it made it impossible to know.

Ignoring the jitters from around the table, Severus continued. "Quite right, Mister Javo. But it is certainly muggle in origin. Do you not fear the King?"

Tension was noticeable now, and the other students ate gently so they could hear every word. Olivia brought a forkful of eggs to her mouth but did not eat them, and Wesley gulped his pumpkin juice with curious eyes. The twins had stopped their silent conversation and they ate absentmindedly.

"Fear him, yes. What man does not fear the end of them?"

"The ones who want the end." Severus replied.

"Ah, that would be a common mistake. Whether one desires death or longs for life, in those final seconds all are afraid. I fear the King, Headmaster, as all do." Amar Javo began softly eating, the crunch of his bacon erupting in the silent Hall.

"What of the muggle wear, Javo? Why do it if you fear the repercussions?" he made himself eat, barely noticing the taste of jelly on his tongue.

"My mother and father were both muggles. I am then a mudblooded disgrace, but only in the eyes of the King and his merry men. They killed my sires and left me to die, yet in all the bad luck of my blood, I came to Hogwarts no worse for wear. What good will come of hiding my muggle origin when I cannot change it?" the boy said, blinking and taking another small bite of toast.

"You could lie about it, I am sure there are many that do. Not everyone is checked by the Ministry."

"I am a muggle's son. My parents were humble, friendly people who gave me life and cherished me. It would be an injustice to them to lie. I am what my blood makes me, I will take pride in that."

All the others looked back to Severus to see his reaction and must have been surprised when he nodded. "Good, Mister Javo. There are too few enough that do."

Breakfast seemed to fly past him and he was suddenly walking down to his office. The day had just begun.

* * *

Had it been a week? Hermione couldn't imagine that all that time had passed so quickly. Maybe a day, perhaps two, but not _seven_. She and Lavender had been working themselves to the bone to craft this persona and Hermione had been working twice as hard to learn from Moody. He had been grilling her since they began and when she slept she saw the words he had spoken, pounding into her chest. Every time she woke she thought of Icarys as a shade that cried beside her, saying "Sister, don't forget me!". Bags were growing beneath her eyes and she felt as though she were dragging her body through molasses.

A week ago they had gone to Polzin's to buy her a new wand, but none had leapt to her touch. After an hour of lackluster connections, they had settled on a temporary one. It was vine and dragon heartstring like hers before, but two inches shorter and with no decoration. Her spells were just as easy to cast, though she could say very little for the strength. It was so weird to be casting defensive spells and having a sparkle of golden flowers erupt instead. That took the better part of her day to work out. Once she had, she felt just a tad better about her odds of dying quickly.

The persona was complete, but Lavender had never let her see it, always vanishing the mirrors she conjured and chiding her when she tried to sneak a peek. She had glimpsed parts; her light green eyes, her flowing auburn hair, her reconfigured nose. After every glance, she would warn Lavender that the colors were wrong and that her nose would look amiss so straight like that. The other woman would sigh angrily, but then they would spend another hour tweaking this and that, finding what was too much and what was not enough.

They had finally landed on something, though only Moody had seen the last product and only he could stand there to approve it. He had, but he waited until tonight to unveil the masterpiece, filling Hermione with more stress than she could handle. It would soon be the face she wore outside the refuge and she wanted to know the woman she was to become before the day of the Ball. What reaction would she let slip if the first glance she got of herself was in a wine glass surrounded by curious enemies?

All the Order was gathered in Grimmauld, but Hermione sneaked past the main meeting room and into the smaller study. Both the blonde Lavender and the ragged Moody awaited her. Hermione had worn what they had asked, a transfigured robe of green with flecks of gold and silver weaved into the fabric. It was meant to highlight her eyes and make her stand out more. She hoped it worked and prayed it failed. Duty and fear fought fiercely within her.

"Finally! Come, sit down, I need to apply the spells so you can show the rest." Lavender ushered her into a seat and began her magic.

It took less time than normal and she didn't feel a thing. Not even a wave of cold or a sudden heat. She was still waiting for the spell when Lavender conjured a long mirror and told her to open her eyes. Did she want to see really? Was she going to be able to stand this woman they had created? Whether or not, Hermione slowly stood, opened her eyes and let herself look.

Persephone Damasca had Hermione's face, except her eyes were Harry's emerald green and her skin was two shades paler. She also had her chestnut hair, except it was smoother and a little longer, hanging down to the small of her back. The dress robes Lavender had configured fit her like a glove and showed off assets Hermione had never known existed. The front dipped downwards in a vee, not too revealing, ending at her sternum. The sides were loose and flowing, rubbing against her hips and thighs, moving with her, a part of her.

The skin tone and the lack of freckles made her feel like an alien in this skin, and the wonderful job Lavender had done with her hair added to the oddness. Yet even though the eyes were green, she knew the person behind them, could feel herself gazing through them. The familiarity eased her into the change and she tried not to poke and prod at herself.

"Well, what do you think?" Lavender asked, crossing her arms with a satisfied smirk.

"It's...different. But I know the features." She raised a pale hand to her cheek and felt the familiar touch of her own hand. "I can...I can do this." Saying the words infused her with courage. She could do this.

"Good, I didn't want to force you." Moody said and she laughed. It was a rare precious thing when he joked. He seemed pleased and gave her shoulder a squeeze as he passed, leaving the two women alone.

"Shouldn't I have cast the glamour?" Hermione asked, curious, once the door had shut behind him.

"Moody thought it best you weren't involved with that." Lavender said, tucking her wand away and moving toward the door.

"Why? What if I need to take it off?"

"He doesn't want you to remove it while you're out of the refuge. It's dangerous. What if you're found out sans glamour or they Imperio you to remove it? Moody's on to something. If I'm the caster and safe behind these walls, you'll be safe in your persona. They could never prove you weren't who you said you were." The blonde woman smiled at her smugly and giggled.

Something didn't feel right, but Hermione took it for nerves and nodded. "I don't like it, but I guess it's all we've got. Let's go."

* * *

Lavender came in first, dodging into the room and over to her usual seat. Ron saw her wave and smirked at her, getting a coy look in return. He wondered if she was free later. After all the events over the past four years, he and Lavender had come to better terms. They danced the line of a relationship, but she was always unsure and he didn't want a repeat of last time. Even though that factored in, there was something between them he couldn't deny. If she ever let him and he ever let himself, they could be a serious couple.

When he was laying in her bed with her in his arms, he wanted nothing more. But she had confided in him that she was afraid he'd regret any commitment to her. It was a silly thought, he felt, as she wasn't the girl anymore and he wasn't the boy. He liked her personality and she had gotten used to his personal space and need for an occasional breather. With a restraint and understanding he could see them married. But Ron knew Lavender would stop all relations for a good while if he brought that up to her. So he simply made her squirm with his newly perfected smirks and winks.

He knew how insecure she really was, when she would let her guards down and be honest with him. He had spoken with Ginny once about the situation and she had told him Lavender's insecurity may be the reason they were dancing around the subject so much. He couldn't understand why a woman so confident, with so much beauty and smarts, would ever be self conscious, let alone insecure. She had no reason to be.

He watched her for a second, wondering what made her hesitate and saw her smile. It made him smile.

A suddenly noise caught his attention and he looked up. _Merlin_...

There was a woman in the doorway, a Slytherin green dress hugging her curves that shimmered silver one second and gold the next. Her curly hair was slightly shiny and wended its way across her left shoulder to her breast. He flicked his eyes up quickly to her face and saw something wrong and familiar. Those eyes were Harry's, no doubt...but that nose was Hermione's. He had watched it scrunch up for the better part of his teens and knew when to run at the smallest sign. That nose could belong to no one else.

"This is Persephone Damasca, our new recruit." Moody introduced and the glamoured Hermione gave a soft smile that didn't quite reflect in her eyes. Those eyes were darting around curiously, but he couldn't tell if she was happy or mad or anything. She was there, but she wasn't.

Charlie, who was usually nursing a new wound and wondering about his baby dragons, whistled.

"Where'd you find this one, Moody? She seems a bit out of your pay grade." Laughter rang up, but Moody simply smirked. He gestured to Hermione and she stepped forward, looking so gentle and sweet, but off-putting and veracious. She went to the gnarled wizard's side and took his hand. Her shoulders were high but somehow relaxed and she wore her femininity like a bright scarf. Like a promise of something more that one had to earn.

Ron's mother made a noise suddenly and he was sure she had realized the game, but she looked at Hermione with a inquisitive air. "Damasca's a pureblood name. My brother, Gideon, was supposed to marry one before the War took him."

"Perhaps it was my mother, Kestrel, who he was meant for. She had many suitors before she married my father. I am sure most regret their eagerness after what became of her." the voice was so Hermione, but if he'd missed her nose, he couldn't have pinpointed it for his life.

What creature had Mad-Eye made of her? She seemed so ethereal and innocent, but beneath the facade was the shades of darkness...of something sinister. Frankly, it scared him. She was going to leave them acting like this? What would happen if she got used to the persona? Would his Hermione fade away forever? Would she meet with the King and become the closest of friends once he realized her drive for learning? What if she got converted? Hermione, his best friend aside from Harry, and the reason either one of them survived school...in the King's hands?

As his mother went to say something in return, Ron stood and passed Hermione to Moody. The old Auror was watching his creation with eagerness and Ron was sick with the thought of this happening before his eyes and despite his protests.

"What's your plan? Are you trying to convert her to the King?" he whispered harshly and only Lupin with his extra hearing heard.

"It's nothing like that, Ron. She's meant to convert others to us." The old Auror replied and Remus came closer as Hermione chatted about her 'mother' and her unfortunate 'brother', Icarys.

"Convert others to us? If they catch wind of her intelligence, along with her beauty and deceptive innocence, she'll be the King's new pet! You don't know her well enough...that much knowledge at her fingertips, after this long stymied..." Ron let the thought hang in the air, the threat of truth within it.

"Hermione isn't a fly-by-night loyalist, Ron. When she says she'll do something, it gets done. I have absolute faith in her." Remus had absolute faith in Hagrid's farts, Ron felt, and any brush of hot air was proof.

"It's not your temptation. The only person who can decide how this ends is Hermione. Let her be...nothing you say can stop this now." Moody turned away as Ron's mother clapped. Forced, though he wished to continue this conversation, he tuned into the scene.

"That was wonderful, Hermione! If I didn't already know, I'd be thoroughly convinced. How did you pull it off?" His mother was gushing over this development, but he was too worried to care.

In his chess games, if Hermione were a piece, he'd be coveting a catch like that. He would guard her and send her away from danger, but use her talents whenever the right piece got close. The King, however ugly and evil, was probably prone to thinking the same. And if he could see the opportunity, so could old Voldie. Ron wasn't prat enough to say Voldie was stupid...he'd been proven wrong the night of the Tower and the events that followed. Ron knew a wise opponent when he saw one. He wasn't chess champion four years in a row for nothing.

Hermione muttered something back to his mother and the woman practically fell out of her chair with happiness. He'd never been so sickened by his mother's smile in his life.

Bill stood, walking to their little grouping. He looked from Moody to Remus and then to his brother. Ron was hoping Bill had pieced it together as he had. His eldest brother had always been the fastest out of the seven of them and was relied upon for a lot of the quick decisions.

"Who casts the glamour?" his voice was hushed and it went mostly unnoticed by the rest of the members.

"Lavender. She's to remain here until this is seen to the end." Moody answered and Ron looked to his brother, thinking.

"This isn't right, Mad-Eye!" Bill looked around suspicious at the group chatting behind them. "Spells can be traced, especially glamours. What happens if Hermione is found out?"

"She won't be." Moody told them, seeming too haggard and too proud at once.

"You can't be sure. Anything can happen once she's out of these walls. We have to rethink this."

"No. We don't have time for another plan. This is all there is." the old Auror turned from them as he had from Ron and watched Hermione.

Bill's jaw was ticking. "Two bodies then, Mad-Eye. That's all this is."

* * *

A/N: I just want to get to the events in the next chapter and then the upcoming Ball, so I'm updating a little fast here. But you don't mind, right? Tickle2Kill.


	14. A Thousand Faces

~*~A Thousand Faces~*~

The looks on their faces had been fuel for her act. All she had to do was look at them and watch their reactions, anticipate their movements without making a decision, speaking without revealing too much.

Moody's words filtered through her head in jumbles and she tried to shove them away. She didn't need to think about those things...the only objective was to believe in her persona. She was who she would introduce herself as, nothing more, nothing less. Inside her was the pureblood heiress who quietly mourned her baby brother and balanced a romance with it. She wasn't Hermione Granger, that woman didn't exist.

It was hard to do. She couldn't force her own mind to stop thinking like her, to stop wanting what she wanted...and it got confused in her own head when she tried to keep the persona and herself separate. She hadn't achieved her full identity yet and the holes in Persephone's character started to be filled with her own likes and dislikes. That made it even harder to sort out. Which one of them liked cheesecake and which one knew what dentistry was? The latter was simple, the former not so much. Then she would start thinking of different types of cheesecake and her headache would commence.

Would Persephone have to be physically affectionate in public with Snape? How was she to tell herself his lips were kissing her persona when she felt them on her own?

Breakfast was sparse and boring, but she ate it anyway. She had to eat, even if the moment she arrived at Snape's manor there would be food enough to fill her. She felt a little guilty about having instant access to food when the whole of the refuge had to wring nutrition out of the smallest of things, but a little part of her was excited about the prospect. It made her feel even worse about the situation.

Lavender was hosting them in her cottage. Ron and Ginny were hovering over her, poking at her cheeks and pulling at her hair, muttering to themselves as if she was deaf.

"Is she supposed to mimic the King's pallor, Lavender?" Ginny questioned, twisting a strand of hair between her thumb and forefinger.

"No!" Lavender's voice was slightly high pitch in indignation. "Pale is delicate. It lacks the harshness of a tan and gives off the air of naivety and gentleness. It'll make her first impression one of a young, ignorant woman with money to burn and little sense of politics."

"Why on earth would you do that?" the other woman asked, releasing the hair in favor of a hand.

"It's like an onion, Gin." Ron answered, his eyes drifting over Hermione with a calculating air. It made her uneasy, but she tried hard to make herself appear unaffected, looking steadily at the middle distance.

"An onion? What, like the layers?"

"Yeah. If all they see is some lack-wit woman with so much riding on who marries her, they'll toss out figures and strategies in front of her and she'll hear loads of useful stuff. Add on that the delicate appearance, old-fashioned and romantic, she'll be wanted by everyone. Such draw could open so many doors and make her quickly interesting and popular. Her rise to the top is guaranteed."

"We want that for her? We want to shove her under the King's nose like that? When I was with Tom, the book version, he would have leapt at anything he thought important or coveted. He's a selfish, possessive creature." It was rare for Ginny to ever speak of the horrors of her first year and to do it so easily and without provocation made all of them pause.

Ron spoke first. "That's exactly why she's pale. It's layer one, then her hair comes next," he took a handful in his palm and showed his sister. "the length and the shine of it means she's healthy. Hair reflects the body's condition. When someone is sick, their hair grows brittle. When someone is consumed by sorrow, their hair is flat and lifeless."

"How could you know that?" Ginny asked, her eyes narrowing curiously. Hermione knew the other woman was suspicious that her brother knew anything but how long a meat loaf took to cook. All of them had lived so long with the Ron who wanted nothing but food and Quidditch that they couldn't fathom him as anything else. It made her feel like a doting mother. Next she'd reach up and smooth that unruly hair by his temple...

"I watch people, Gin. You may or may not have noticed but I am still chess champion. Chess is like poker sometimes, if you aren't watching your enemy you never understand them or their moves. You have to watch to know when to call a bluff."

Lavender had a look of complete pleasure on her face, but Ginny looked uncomfortable. By the look she sported, Hermione knew she was thinking exactly what she herself had been thinking.

"That's...that's brilliant, Ron." He beamed at his sister's compliment and she seemed to relax.

"What time is it?" Hermione questioned softly, looking up at Ron with pride. She had always underestimated him. She should have noticed sooner how intelligent he really was. That piece of information should have been the first thing she noticed about Ron, but he had hid it with that frivolous behavior and rather well in fact. Hermione was proud of him, so proud. He was turning into a really brave, wise, man.

"'Round about four-thirty. Why?"

"Moody wants to have one last talk with me before I turn in for the night. He'll be taking me to the Nest, but out in the open we'll have no chance to speak and he won't speak in front of Snape." she responded, standing.

"Slayer. Stop calling his name." Ron reverted slightly with his words from wise man to man.

"I'll be calling him 'Severus, dear' soon, why even pretend?"

"Imagine hearing that all the time, Ron." Ginny said, goading him. "Severus, dear! Next she'll pour his tea and kiss that traitorous nose."

A smile didn't crawl its way to Hermione's face and everyone seemed to notice. "I won't make fun of him." she told them fiercely.

"That's alright, 'Mione. You never did."

* * *

The afternoon air around the manor made the tall figure shiver. She had cast a warming charm, but it had faded and she hadn't really noticed. She didn't see the point of casting one now, as she would be indoors soon and if she cast a warming charm, she would be too hot inside. Her husband was off in France again, battling with that snotty Ariel Boudin. The man was witty and full to the brim with hot air and lies. Lucius had been locked in that intricate dance for seven months now and had little changed the situation. Their King would not be pleased if he heard about the latest development.

Narcissa was sticking her feelers into every nook and cranny, trying to work out the best way to salvage this family. She didn't blame Lucius as much as her vulture-esque tea mates did. She had known her husband for nearly thirty years, and knew when he was breaking. The pressure of so many positions and the lack of real allies in the King's Court made him suffer more than disgraced isolation ever did. He was stretched thin every single day and yet always came home. She had tried to get him to stay in Paris until he had finished his duty, the King would expect as much, but her husband had simply fallen asleep without a word.

She knew what was happening before he had confided in her. All efforts to bring Ariel over were for naught. That man was as stalwart for muggles and mudbloods as Dumbledore. Nothing could be said against them and no amount of propaganda would change his mind. It had gotten to the point that the minister would not even treat with Lucius and all his trips to the minister were actually useless strolls about the Parisian streets. He had been lying about his progress for two weeks now.

Long ago, Narcissa would have asked her sister for assistance. But back then her sister had been sane and beautiful. Neither applied at the present and Bellatrix was too ruined to care for her poor sister's fate. The King was all and she was nothing.

The door suddenly opened before her and she smiled up at the man.

"Narcissa, you look...unwell."

"I'm glad you didn't lie to me, Severus. Most would just say 'lovely' and mutter behind my back." she answered.

Severus allowed her a soft smile and took her hand. "Lucius must not be faring as well as it appeared." He led her inside and shut the door behind her, guiding her to the sitting room.

"Are you that well connected?" She would loathe for it to be so easy for everyone to know. If so, the King already knew and she had precious little time.

"Not as I should be. I have seen Lucius recently and even through his exuberance he was tired. Soon after our chat he rushed back to Ariel Boudin. Now I see you are no better rested." He let her sit in the softest chair and fetched a Firewhisky for them both.

"My husband is drawn too thin between his duties. It seems when too little does not break him, the King heaps on too much. He is determined to see Lucius crushed." She had always been able to speak freely with Severus. His catatonic state of so soon ago did not hinder his ability to listen and to counsel. She could count on good counsel from Severus, with or without feeling behind it.

"I do not doubt it. I do not forgive and I do not forget, he has always said to us. It should not surprise us that he will not be satisfied with repentant words and a few months of being a social pariah. The King means to see Lucius judged and punished, by his own acts and by his ability to cope. We all know the consequence for failing the King again."

Narcissa took a generous gulp of Firewhisky and swallowed it. The burn chased her tears away and she sighed at it all.

"I've known this since the 'honor' was given to him. I am doing all I can, but there is only so much. I try to wed Draco, but he fights me so. He wants to choose his own bride. The one we arranged for him was killed that night at Hogwarts."

"Pansy Parkinson? I had not heard. I supposed she simply went to Beauxbatons, it was much calmer there." Severus replied, frowning.

"The irony was that Dolohov was the killer. He thought she was one of the Gryffindors who opposed him. I found out later that she had been injured by debris and a young man gave her his tie to staunch the blood. She had already used her own, but the blood soaked the green-and-silver to black. All he saw was red-and-gold."

The story had saddened her. The girl was never her favorite, but it seemed that her son would get along with her well enough to marry. Pureblood necessity said that he must marry, but Narcissa was willing to give all she could for him to be happy. She couldn't find true love in her marriage, but she was driven to make her son find what she couldn't. He deserved to benefit from all she had had to suffer. But time was not on her side and she would soon be forced to make her son marry without love. Connections really were important now, especially status and financial means.

"Who do you propose to pair him with?" He took everything as it was and answered logically with a poignant question. This is why she could never understand Bella's hatred of him. This man really took no sides in any matter and had survived regardless of any discrepancies in his reports or the offenses to the King's grace. Even his lackluster service to their sovereign went fairly unnoticed and he was now the highest ranked member of the realm. This man could survive the Killing Curse, she was convinced, and still offer advice on marriage.

"I have been in talks with Madam Greengrass, Solara Mefflebaum, and was speaking to Kestrel Damasca about...well, it doesn't matter now." She wasn't sure how Severus would take the knowledge that she had.

Kestrel Damasca had died six years ago and had been bartering with Narcissa about what amount of money her daughter would be worth. The woman was, and had always been, sickly, which most assumed passed to her rarely seen daughter. Narcissa was prone to believe that tale because of the terms the woman had tried to see secured.

Marriage without seeing the bride beforehand(preferably after 'I will'), the passing of funds at the exact moment of marriage(straight to the Damasca vault in Gringotts), old-fashioned Pureblood standards(until death, solid with or without an heir). The old age of pureblood marriages was for cattle and land and gold before it was Galleons. It didn't really matter if one had a child by the wife, mostly because infidelity was not so frowned upon and bastards could be hidden with a well placed lie. Narcissa wondered if any of them were really pure in the end, not that it compromised her beliefs. She was devout to blood purity, with or without the proof against it. The reckless decisions of their ancestors was the problem, not the blood. In the romantic monogamous era, where being chaste was counted in your favor, the purebloods had shifted accordingly to accommodate and marriage contracts become stiff and unyielding.

She herself had fallen prey to one, and though she loved Lucius dearly, she was never in love with him. Narcissa could still not bring herself to love him in that way, even after all this time. Her heart was not in it and she could not force it to be. But her love for him was strong and she was determined to save his life, no matter the cost.

"Mefflebaum is pureblood, but poor as her brother before her and as wide as a hippogriff. Most of her children are unreliable lickspittles who drift like weeds in the wind whenever someone gains power. It appears all that is left you is Greengrass. What of Daphne? I had heard she married some Rosier cousin." Severus refilled her cup and eased back into his seat calmly, watching her with those fathomless black eyes.

"Sven. His blood is pure and since he had a child out of wedlock before he was married, it is obvious he is fertile. We purebloods need more children, before we drive ourselves into extinction. Merlin forbid."

"So you must look to...what was her name? Astra? No, Astoria. Astoria Greengrass, more beautiful and less idiotic. Daphne and Pansy were too close for comfort." The room in which they sat grew cold and Narcissa stood, walking over to the fire and warming her hands.

"I've met with Astoria, but Lucius won't and Draco seems to always find a way around it. I can't wait any longer, I need this security if we are to rebound. We have the money, but more wouldn't hurt. We have the status, but that has always been fragile. The only thing we stand to gain from this is heirs, and I am loathe to have none." Narcissa had always wanted a large family when she was young, with as many kids as fingers and a doting husband. She got one, but the other was cut by nine. To see Draco achieve what she had not and be happy about it, well, she wished it were so.

"Send Draco to me when you can, I'll convince him to meet with this woman. If you could keep her reined, in example, no talk of marriage, love, children or parents, then perhaps this thing shall be done with." He seemed to be hammering shut this conversation and she recalled why she was here at all.

"I have wasted your time, Severus, I apologize."

He smiled and shook his head. "I care for you, your husband and your son. It honors me that you trust enough to forget yourself. Please, sit, let us speak about this favor I ask of you."

He was more a man than Rodolphus and kind to top it all. Knowing who he had killed and in what number, she was proud to be so at ease with him. There were members at court who would not say a word against him until he had left the city. He generated fear to rival the King himself.

"Of course." She resumed her seat and met his eyes. "I will be delighted to meet this Persephone. Her mother made me so curious about her."

* * *

Alastor Moody was waiting in her cottage when she finally arrived, lounging on her couch with a shiny red apple in his gnarled hand. She walked towards him, letting the act go. It had been a while since she had feared someone's verdict. Did she succeed? Was she ready? Would he reprimand her? She had tried her best, but she only had a week.

Hermione could feel him watching her, was trying not to show her worries and heard him snicker as he took a crunching bite of the apple.

"That was a good show, Hermione. Hopefully you'll be able to keep it up through this Ball...though there is a catch." his voice was deep and wound its way into her mind. There were layers, just like her onion, to his voice.

"What catch?"

"If this succeeds as we hope, you may not have another opportunity to return for quite a while. We are hoping you'll make a splash and create waves that last for a few months. The death of something new is when the novelty wears off and the show loses all its awe. You have to set out a pace, keep them wanting you, but don't give it all away. If anything, keep them wanting things that don't really matter and when they start to wane, toss out a hook. You don't know how important you are about to become." he was tearing into the apple with fervor now and she sat across from him quietly.

"How am I supposed to do all of this without help?" She wasn't confident enough to know if she could do this in the thick of it. Fooling her friends was well and good, but fooling hungry serpents who've been waiting for a treat was another beast entirely.

"Did anyone ever really stand by you and guide you through your OWLs or your NEWTs? Use that approach when you're in the fold. You are the only reliable person around you. Trust in yourself and listen to your feelings. If something feels off, escape it. If something feels right, pursue it. Know yourself and attempt to know your enemy. That is all I can do for you."

But it wasn't enough. She didn't have five to seven years of schooling to prepare for this; she had five to seven days. No amount of reading or watching or listening was going to be enough in that short time. She wanted to ask him if he'd review all the strategies and gestures, but something told her it was too late. After tonight she would have to throw herself completely into this role. Outside these walls she would be Persephone, because being Hermione meant death.

"Thank you, Alastor." she murmured and he smiled.

"That's a first. Why the sudden precedent?" he was standing, coming towards her. She met his eyes, but she couldn't maintain it.

"If something happens to me..." she began, taking his hand when he held it out.

"Nothing will happen to you, Hermione. You can do this, you will do this. When everyone looks back on this day, they'll be so proud of you." his voice was soft now, but she didn't want to hear it. She had always worked better when she was being dressed-down. Something about being told, 'You can't.', made her work harder. No one could pity her to success. She pressed her point.

"If it does, keep everyone fighting. Never let anything break the Light, it's too precious."

"I know." His smile lost its glow suddenly, she frowned at the fall of his lips. "Obliviate!"

She only saw a glimpse of wood and flash of light before everything went dark.

* * *

Narcissa had returned this morning, primped and proper, and was lounging in his library, a thin tome of uncertain origin in her pale hands. He had left her with tea and a kind word, ensuring her he wouldn't be too long in retrieving his new woman. He had been shaken slightly by the knowledge that a Damasca girl had existed and now that she was familiar or at least had been bargained over. He wondered if she really was alive out there and if Persephone was her real name. Severus had thought the Order might run Hermione through her paces, trying to prepare her, but only a pureblood Slytherin could prepare you for the King's Court. Serpents, wolves and vultures were in abundance. One misstep or wrong word and the serpents would slither off to hiss in the right ears. One sign of weakness and the wolves would descend. The vultures would wait until the other two were done, then they would pick clean whatever remained.

He couldn't leave her in the dark if they were to succeed. Severus crossed another alley in Knockturn, retracing his steps to the Nest Hermione had taken him to. It was just as it had been, but he passed it six times before entering. He could never be sure when he was being followed. Even so, he ran into the nearest alcove after a quick jog around the block and Disillusioned himself. When he entered the Nest, he knew he was safe.

He let the spell fall and conjured a chair to wait out the others.

It seemed like an eternity of silence, but really it was only ten minutes. Just as he was beginning to worry, there were two shimmering figures slipping through the doorway. He knew she was to the right, even before they dropped the spell. That mad-dog Moody immediately spun and checked the wards on the door, then sighed.

"You came alone, that's good." he muttered gruffly, guiding the hooded Hermione closer to him.

"Who would I have brought? Which of my brethren could have gone missing most inconspicuously?" Severus inquired, vanishing his chair to free his legs.

"Gone missing? I expected you to ambush us." the old man in turn conjured a chair, but let Hermione sit in it.

"I supposed the same, but of you. Had I brought anyone else, you would have sent a Patronus and fought until you got reinforcements. We think alike, it seems."

"Is that meant to be a bad thing? If I think like you I'll at least have fair warning of attack. I'm so predictable." The tone was joking and sarcastic, neither of which moved Severus. He was staring at Hermione.

"Why have you hooded her? I know who she is."

"It's for my protection. If she doesn't remember me with any of her senses, I won't ever be seen in her head. It'll save the refuge a lot of trouble. We only had a week to prepare her."

"I'm sure it was more than enough." Severus walked forward. "I have someone waiting to see her, we must go."

"Fine. Uphold your end and she'll uphold ours. Death to the King." Moody said it like some farewell and flicked his wand, fading out the Nest door like smoke.

* * *

Persephone was confused. The last thing she remembered was being at home, but there was something in the back of her mind...something she had forgotten. She hated forgetting things. Icarys always forgot to apply a sticking charm to his trousers before he jumped on that broom and now he was dead. She couldn't let that happen to her.

She couldn't see, or hear...or anything for that matter. She knew she was awake and that there was something going on, but she couldn't feel a single thing. Where was she?

The one thought that popped into her head was that she had to go to the Ball with Severus. She wondered where he was and if he was orchestrating all of this. It seemed a little far-fetched, but what did she have to go on?

The sound finally returned to the world, the sounds of skittering and high pitch squeaking. Touch then smell returned and she shook her head, looking up but all she saw was darkness. Something told her to lift her hands and remove the dark, but a set of strong, warm hands stopped hers. She knew those hands. They began to push down her hood and then untied the dark that shielded her eyes. She smiled and spoke.

"Severus. What did you blindfold me for?" The cloth slid from her face and she blinked, looking around.

Dirt, rats, bugs, a tiny pauper's bed. She saw spiderwebs in the corners and folded up magazines with pictures that didn't move. There was some sort of can with bright writing on the side and she remembered that the muggles called it 'soda'. What an odd species and what an odd concoction. But why would her beloved bring her here?

"What did they do to you?" Severus mumbled, gripping her chin. He was always so gentle with her.

"'They'?" she asked, staring up at his onyx eyes.

"Nothing, Persephone...just...nothing." he seemed sad, she stretched up on her tiptoes and kissed his thin lips. Her sense of taste was back as well. He tasted like fire and earth.

"Let's go to your manor. This place reeks of decay."

"Of course, Persephone. Take my arm."

She hooked her arm around his and grinned happily. The Ball would be lovely and she had to make a splash. How else was she to find those puzzle pieces and checkmate the black?

* * *

**A/N**: This is what I was wanting to post for ages. Did I get ya? Tickle2Kill.


	15. There Have Been Changes

~*~There Have Been Changes~*~

When Severus released her arm in the foyer of his elegant manor, Persephone stared after him curiously. He looked lost and withdrawn. Usually he was so loving, at least his form of loving. He had cried before her and shown anger towards her, but he wasn't ever so concealed from her. She couldn't let it be.

"Sev, tell me what troubles you. Your eyes aren't focused and you won't touch me."

"You aren't Her...her. You aren't her." his voice was now disappointed.

"I am as I was when I left you. I...I changed my makeup," she touched her eyes, then lowered her hand. "I didn't spend much time in the sun and mother never did like vacations. Maybe its just the morning air, my love. Please, don't look at me that way, it makes me wonder what I've done when I've done nothing." She didn't like sounding so weak, but she wanted Severus to smile at her and hug her and tell her what the King had said to him.

She remembered the woman from the thievery that other day, who had screamed so loud for Wilbur. She also remembered Severus being called to the King and his drunken tiredness later. He had explained things to her then. What stopped him now?

"It's nothing, my...heart." he pulled her close and kissed her brow, his lips oddly cold. "Go up to your room and change into one of the dresses I bought you. You have a guest."

He spun from her and around the corner, going down the hall to greet the woman whose voice accompanied the sound of an audibly snapped-shut book. Persephone stared after him and a sudden rush of jealousy invaded her. Standoffish, cold, another woman? She'd see about this. She conjured a dress from their room and spelled it on, ignoring the fact that she was in the foyer. She sent her old dress and her cloak upstairs then took a breath, entering the hall that led to the library. Each step drove some tick from her face until she was stone as she stepped over the threshold.

"Mrs. Malfoy!" she said happily but gently. She was not exactly filled with joy to speak with this woman, but her manners must be upheld. Her mother had taught her better.

The other woman stood and took her hand, shaking it softly. When the older woman let their pleasant handshake go, Persephone smiled at her confidently.

"I have heard so much of you. Severus has been lax in his description of you, but perhaps such beauty cannot be described with _mortal_ words. I find myself humbled and angered. I would have loved to have you as a mother-in-law." They all sat, with Severus to her right and Narcissa Malfoy to her left in a separate chair.

"I fear you would have been disappointed. My son would not have let you share tea with me if he had seen you. Your beauty seems to rival mine." The graceful woman looked as uncomfortably at Severus and Persephone caught herself.

"I should hold my tongue on more occasions, I believe I've given you a rather wrong first impression. Allow me another, would you?" she gave the jealousy a firm kick and brought herself back to the real world. What would she win with _Gryffindor antics_ in a Slytherin world?

"I suppose I could be moved to grant you that much." They smiled at each other and Persephone made herself believe hers was from real satisfaction. Narcissa's seemed to melt down to a real one and Severus released a sigh beside her.

"May we move on with this business? I have important duties awaiting me." Her love would not look at her, but she knew she could fix that. First she must see about this...business.

* * *

_What wild humor Fate has_, Severus thought, _to change her so much in such little time. Only a week, indeed_.

He had left the two women to their devices, too uncomfortable around this creature that called herself Persephone. He felt as if he had been cheated. He knew they had made a deal, but this was not Hermione. This woman, though loving and caring, seemed cold and cunning...nothing like the woman he had been waiting for. All his hope was stacked on seeing Hermione again, but now he saw he would have to settle with this...glamoured mockery.

But he couldn't understand why she was acting like this. She didn't need to maintain that facade around him, but it appeared she was fully immersed in the character. Even in the Nest she behaved nothing like Hermione Granger. Was she afraid to let the cover go? He would have to speak with her when Narcissa had gone.

Her eyes were exactly like Lily's, exactly like the boy's. But Lily had never been that pale and the hair was the wrong color. It wasn't Hermione's hair, or her eyes, or her skin...Hermione had never been so proper and calculating, nor had she been so loving towards him. It struck him as distantly humorous that the moment he desired her to care for him and stay with him, she comes willingly in someone else's form.

He did not want affection from this woman, he wanted affection from the one beneath the glamour. Every time she touched him, he shied away; but each time he recoiled, she seemed to reach out to recapture him in her foreign grasp. Using pet names was going to drive him insane, calling her _darling, my heart, my love_...he would sooner be summoned.

A flare of red hot pain shot through his forearm and he gasped. _Never wish for anything, you dolt. With your luck, it comes true_.

He hated having to leave now, to answer this call, but he had never had a choice. Whirling about his room and flicking his robes on, Severus sorted through these recent events and made them look presentable. It would be rather odd for him to appear to be avoiding his own lover. It bit into his heart that he could be so disconnected from his own struggles that he could make them suitable for Legilimency. Perhaps he was worse than he had first assumed.

He checked himself once in the full length mirror then donned his mask. He wondered after the sense of peace being clothed like this gave him. Another wave of pain went through his arm and he sighed, spinning on the spot.

There was a mild gathering around the base of the King's throne, smatterings of important and superficial members here or there, with clusters of unfamiliar women and oddly dispersed men. He gave them all a solid look-over and was pleased when nearly all of them averted their gazes and silenced themselves. There was an extra seat beside the King, far less impressive than the silver and jewels beside it, but beautiful nonetheless. It was a darker shade of silver, with Celtic knots and emeralds, and a foot or two smaller. He approached the King as the mass of people parted for him, unwilling to touch him.

Severus knelt before the King on one knee, his head down. "My King."

"You have been sorely needed. Come, sit beside me and listen to these bottom-feeders. I would know what you think of their arrangements for the Ball. It is tonight and I would not have mistakes." the hissing voice beckoned him to come forward and he stood, placing himself in the Celtic chair. It molded to his body and he had to fight the urge to groan at the comfort. It was so soft, yet firm in all the right places. The thing had looked so solid from the other side.

"Begin." The King's command went out from his lips like a whisper but echoed through each ear and all obeyed it.

A chef who had come to replace the last one stepped forward. His predecessor, James Cucinotta, had attempted poisoning the King's feast and when the always paranoid King tested the food with his wand, he found traces of the agent meant to kill him. Cucinotta had been tortured until he broke, then he was served his own food, brought to the brink of death and given the antidote. After a few of these bouts, he eventually succumbed in the night. Now it was difficult to find a cook anymore, as all the candidates were too afraid to connect themselves with the King.

Voldemort had house elves, but he found wizard cooks more to his liking. Mostly, Severus believed that it was because the manor was so large and so empty and their King bored easily. It was going to be one of the many occupations of the children who fell victim to the Maternity Law. Severus tried to think that at least this preference of the King kept those muggleborn children alive. He could help the living, but he was powerless to aid the dead.

"Your Grace, if I may, I would like to offer you my services as chef. I had thought more would come to serve you, but all are in fear. Let me do what they have not." the portly man was dressed in his finest, though they were nothing compared to the others.

"None of them have lasted long and none of them have succeeded in killing me. Is this what you strive towards?"

The man began to stammer, but he grit his teeth as the young boy with him squeezed his hand. "On the first, yes. On the second, never. I am yours to command, my king."

"Severus, do you think I should allow him his chance to fail? I do not wish to waste more of my time with would-be assassins." the King looked to him and Severus nodded, knowing would-be assassins were sport to the King.

"Let him prepare your food, but have that boy of his taste it. That should keep him from poisoning it to harm you." he didn't really want to endanger the boy, but it seemed the appropriate thing to say. Besides, he doubted the man would poison his own son.

Of course, he earned a glare from the man, regardless of the fact that it wasn't his fault. He wasn't going to poison the boy and it was the King's whim that would turn advice into action, but he received the hate. Good thing he was already used to such treatment. After being told he was now part of the King's household, the man named Geor and his son, Aghi, moved off from the main group and followed Wormtail to the kitchens.

Next was the decorator, who had come to speak about where certain things were placed. He didn't really think flower arrangements were important to him or the king, but he listened to the drone of the short, thin man. There were going to be large serpents that would bar anyone not invited posted throughout the room that would minimize the chance of unwanted people gaining entry. This was a needed precaution as the first couple years of the King's reign were filled with attempts on his life. It had been nearly three years since the last plot against him, but Severus agreed that being lax would be detrimental.

He hoped that all went well. He hadn't a clue yet what they were meant to do first for the Light. He knew they could watch and wait, but Dumbledore had always been the one to say where to go, what to do and when to do it. Severus wasn't sure what their approach was going to be to this espionage and what exactly they were trying to achieve. He would speak with his 'woman', Persephone, to figure out how they would begin. The Order must have told her something about what they had planned.

The next person was there to seek permission to play music for the King. They could always bewitch instruments to play out predetermined songs, but the King smirked down at the little musician and told her she would be paid grandly for her work if she entertained them and could play anything on cue. The penalty for tardiness, mistake or ignorance would result in the loss of a knuckle off of each finger for every offense. The woman's grey eyes widened but she nodded quickly and strongly.

"You will be much pleased, your Grace." she had a lusty, throaty voice and Severus wondered how her singing would be. He thought he would enjoy it.

After those people had left with their nays or yeas, only members with the Mark remained. They varied from Yaxley with his dark blond hair and haggard face, to a new boy whose father had died last year. He was now the man of the family and he was taking the mantle his sire couldn't take into the grave. Severus couldn't remember his name, though Dorian seemed to fit him. Antonin Dolohov, the Lestranges including Rabastan, Lucius, Draco, Avery, Mulciber, Thorfinn Rowle, Samuel Crabbe, Landon Goyle, Old Nott and his son, Theodore, were also in appearance. It was quite a grouping.

"You all know why we are here. I have many ambassadors attending this Ball. Dieter Dunkle from Germany. Walter Puga from Spain. Quirino Montagna from Italy. These people are important, valued...and sensitive. One wrong word could spell the death of their Minister's favor. Each man must be paired with one of you, each one to be followed throughout the night and shown the better side of Pureblood civility and appeal. Those that fail me will be rewarded justly."

All present bowed to his words, their heads low but their eyes on Severus. He was sure it was some precedent for someone to be seated near the same level as the King. He made himself look as confident as the King, with an arrogant half-slouch and a smirk. They would never be able to touch him while he was within the King's favor and it wouldn't hurt if they thought he had grown weak in his apparent importance.

"My King, has the Slayer achieved some greatness of which we are not aware?" It was Yaxley, who had never really cared for him in the first place.

The King turned scorching eyes to the grouping, Nagini slithering off his shoulders to the floor. Her scales made a soft brushing sound as she moved.

"You have something of import to say, Yaxley?"

The other man stepped forward from his spot beside the newly-scarred Rodolphus, bowing once more before standing to his full height. Severus perked up as he listened to what this man would say. The group behind him seemed to hover with bated breath and hunched backs, eager for the answer but too scared to step forward themselves. Severus could only guess what they had said to make him chance the possible reprimand.

"It has never occurred, this raising up of a servant. Of us all, the Slayer becomes your right hand?" the stern man inquired, his anger evident, though one could not truly tell by the look on his face.

"First Rodolphus, now you. I wonder where this animosity stems from...and why you all persist to assume you understand my actions and motives. It is my choice to place him here and it is my choice that any of you still breathe before me." The King stood, his feet bare and long, skeletal protrusions from the bottom of his robes. He seemed to disdain shoes of any kind. He stepped down from the throne to the mass of his followers and came to stand before Yaxley.

The stern man kept a brave face, but Severus could feel his fear, even from this comfy silver chair. The king's white hand reached up and cupped Yaxley's face, making his follower betray his true unease if in a slight half-formed twitch. A long smirk tugged at their sovereign's lips and he spoke.

"All these years I have cared for you all, nurtured you and guided you...given you my knowledge and my support. When I was thought vanquished you did not aid me, save a few. When I returned, you did not rush into my arms with joy, but with excuses. It was not until I showed you all my power, my right as King, that you bowed before me in reverence. What should I make of this, Yaxley?" He stared down at the man with a curious expression, neither happy nor mad, but some middle distance between the two.

"I...I do not know, your Grace."

"Of course you do not. I made of it what I needed to, sculpted a reaction that would reinforce my cause. All that I do is for the purity of the blood and the rights of all true wizards and witches. All that I strive towards is our advancement. Every life I have spared has helped us and every life I have taken has cleared the way. I do all of this, even when you abandon me, yet you question my decisions. Question your king and your master. Question the hand that feeds you...the one who keeps you alive." His voice had grown so cold it made the room frigid and half of them bowed their heads to hide the shivers. Yaxley took the brunt of it and staggered back a step, the king's hand following him.

Severus watched as the pale length of the fiend's yew wand became visible and the target's eyes grew wide with fear. Slowly, the wood rose to Yaxley's chest and pressed against it softly, almost gently. Then, as if in a dream, the King smirked and the other man began to scream, falling to the floor like a stone statue. The shouts and gasps from the limb-locked man lasted for too long, or perhaps that was the echo from this vaulted room, Severus could not tell. All he could make of it was the Petrificus Totalus curse and the Cruciatus Curse combined. Knowing the latter as well as he did, he could not imagine a harsher punishment for the crime of curiosity. The white hand that had once held his cheek lingered in the air for a moment before languidly falling to its owner's side.

Once the spell had stopped, the room was quiet and calm, yet Severus could see the terror of being next in every eye. The sovereign snake ascended the steps to his throne again and sat, hissing quietly to Nagini who coiled up at his feet with a replying hiss. He let the silence hang for a moment, then looked to Severus.

"Pair these ingrates with their ambassadors and let us be done. I have much more to do than listen to dissent and mistrust from the hungry."

Nodding, the Slayer began his work.

* * *

Narcissa was a joy, but Persephone could scarce stand another lesson in etiquette. She felt as if she had heard all this before. She listened intently and mimicked being unaware of each new thing that was taught. Though the teachings were lackluster, the woman who taught them was not. If anything, Persephone found she liked the woman. They could talk of things like her son's would-be wife, the wedding that would follow, if the mother could sneak in a suggestion of the grandchild's name. They spoke of what the Ball was to be like and how exactly to approach the king.

"With your face, he will approach you, dearest." She was told, Persephone hoped it would be that easy.

The two of them went over what they were going to wear, though both kept the main articles secret. It drew many laughs from them when they had to think of something to cover up the real thing. Both wanted the other's to be a surprise. Laughter came easily to them for some reason and it helped to ease the forging of their relationship.

After tea and finger food, they had to part ways. Time had passed so quickly and now it was late afternoon.

"I'll be there by eight with Lucius and Draco. Till then." Narcissa stepped out the door and was gone with a quiet rumble.

Persephone stood there looking out at the yard, wondering. Severus had yet to return and he usually told her when he was being summoned. The air outside was chilling with her as doubt crept into her mind. If it wasn't Narcissa, was there someone else?

_No_, she told herself firmly,_ Severus is a good man. He serves his king and he loves me_.

Steeling her resolve on the matter, Persephone slammed the front door shut and hurried to their...her room. She would make sure Severus never looked sideways at another woman.

Grepa was easy to call and had her bath ready before she could properly ask for it. The scent was already within it and bubbles drifted along the surface lazily. Persephone remembered the little motherly elf would speak to her, but today she simply glanced up worriedly and vanished with a bow. It notched up her drive to fix all this weirdness. Nothing seemed to be responding in the way it should.

The bath water was just a degree too hot, but she really didn't care. She scrubbed at her arms and legs, prying off dead skin and sweat with each swiping pass. When she felt completely clean and the water had grown cold and cloudy, Persephone stood and let the water run back down her body to the bath. If she took a breath she could smell strawberries in the air. It was calming and reassuring; familiar. She rinsed her skin once more before she stepped out of the bath.

Dressing was interesting.

The last she remembered of her clothing, it had been in bags. Probably when she relocated all her things to Severus' manor from her mother's ancestral home. Now, all her things were placed lovingly inside an oak armoire, everything in order and ready to wear.

Filled with happiness at the gesture she knew must have been Severus', Persephone opened the bottom drawers and picked out appropriate underwear. She picked out a set of forest green; a bra and panties, scheming in her mind what she would wear over it. There were short dresses that would brush her knees if she swayed her hips, long ones that dragged on the ground lightly, a mix of both that was short in the front and long in the back. There were v-neck tops, scoop tops, square eyelets in a shrinking and descending pattern, and sweetheart tops with beads along the hems. Some were blue, some were red, a couple were even purple. She stared at them for the longest time, thinking and plotting. What would she wear? What did Severus think she was going to wear?

Smiling, she pulled out the last dress she had been caressing and hurried to slide it on. It was kind of cool to the touch like the cloudy cold things that drifted off of something completely frozen. It was a soft, pliable material and clung to her body perfectly, hiding anything she might have been afraid to show in such detail. When she looked in the mirror she could scarce believe she was actually there in that dress. It was high in the front, all the way up to the base of her neck in a small collar and all the way down to her wrists with dress shirt-type cuffs. The fabric from her back was pulled over in front of her body, ruched to the angle of her hips and the curve of her ribs, creating a criss-cross over her abdomen. The bottom fell loose about her feet like a steady current.

_And he won't be able to ignore this either_, she thought, spinning so that she could see her back.

Where one would assume the high front would continue in the back, there was just an expanse of bare flesh, from the top of her shoulder blades to the small of her back. It was as though an oval had been cut from the fabric. When she rolled her shoulders back, she could see the muscles moving. Persephone spun a few times to get the feel of the dress around her legs, then checked the time. She had less than thirty minutes.

She gasped and ran to her armoire again. There were no combs or brushes or ties and she couldn't think of what to do with her hair. It was hanging in stringy ropes but it was dry. Persephone was digging through her clothing, frantic for a comb when a thought hit her.

_You are a witch, aren't you?_

Letting loose a cry of triumph, she picked up her short wand and transfigured a sock into a comb. It felt weak and useless, but she was able to get out the tangles and snares, coaxing her hair into laying in waves down her exposed back. When she'd fixed that problem, she ran into another. If she moved in a leaning way, looking at her feet or swinging quickly to any side, her hair would fall into her face and she would have to sweep in back behind her ears.

She bit her lip at this, staring at a pair of heels she planned on wearing with the dress. They were three inch stiletto heels, decorated with a small round star-burst shape of emeralds with diamond-like jewels on each point. Her mind seemed to be on fire with solutions. Persephone replicated the jewel on the heel and made it into a small shiny clip, just big enough to keep her hair held back behind her shoulders. Now, she was ready.

As she was running through a checklist in her head and quickly trying each lesson she'd been taught, Grepa appeared with her little feet and wide, watery eyes.

"The master has come back from the summonings, he's waiting in the foyer for yous."

Persephone was struck with a nervousness she couldn't understand for half a second, but one look at herself and a deep breath shoved all those things away. She looked sideways at the tiny elf and nodded her understanding.

"Tell him I am coming."

The elf vanished without any indication she had heard.

* * *

Severus had found the cleanest, richest looking set of robes he owned and donned them with less than a flicker of excitement. The prospect of going to some show-and-tell power play with a farce of a woman did not exactly rise the adrenaline in him. He usually did not complain about all the little things, but he was left bereft because of the recent developments and he had to find something to do with his indignation.

His collar was too tight and his sleeves made him itch. His feet were encased in his best and most comfortable boots, but he drifted from foot to foot and back in an attempt to find the softness he'd paid for. The forest green wool cloak he wore over his broad shoulders brushed his heels and it made him feel like some time along the night he would fall to the floor because of it. The cloak had no hood, for which he was grateful, and his hair was brushed straight and soft, held back by a length of leather. He held his Slayer mask in one hand, whether he needed it or not, he was not sure. He planned to wear it on his entrance and banish it for the rest of the Ball. It was best all those assembled saw him in his most intimidating and thought of him as such until the dawn came to separate them all.

Grepa was suddenly beside him and Uncto was right behind her, even the twins were there in the shadow. He looked down at them as he ran his pinky finger along his collar.

"What? Is she coming soon?" his voice sounded aggravated and he made a conscious effort to rid himself of the tone.

"Yes. She be coming nows, master." Grepa told him, smiling, then her face fell and her large eyes drooped along with her ears. "Wills she come back to us normal?"

It was such an odd occurrence for his elves to question him and he looked down at them in confusion.

"Normal?"

"Likes she was before she came back. Likes the mistress who was good for master." Uncto rarely spoke without being asked directly and only when it pertained to something he was ordered to do. Severus eyed them both for a moment, then turned to look up the stairs.

"I don't rightly know...though I hope it is soon."

"As do we." They vanished and he heard soft footfalls on the wood above him.

She looked like some angel with the lamplight behind her creating a delicate silhouette. Her hips weren't too big and sloped from her waist rather beautifully, adding to the swishing texture of her dress. His eyes drifted up to her where her eyes should be but he couldn't see them. She cleared her throat, then began her descent, her hips swinging enticingly back and forth. Even though he knew the person beneath this facade was what he longer for, he still felt drawn to her. He pulled his hand from his collar and straightened his robes with a rough jerk, holding his mask awkwardly to his right.

"You look handsome, Severus." She sounded surprised by that statement and he saw the confusion pass over her face. He was curious and when he took her arm he gazed down to her.

"What troubles you?"

She seemed even more confused by that question. "I...I just...there was this sharp pain in my head. Like a migraine, but less so...as if I was remembering something but it got away. I...never mind. Let us go."

He frowned down at her more sharply and he hesitated to Apparate. Something was tickling his mind, something was falling into place but he couldn't quite...and it was gone at the flash of pain in his arm, through the Mark. He was shaken out of his thinking by it and took a breath, donning his ivory Slayer mask.

"Yes, let us go."

The pressure of the Apparation mimicked the unsolved problem in his mind and he had to shove it aside to ready himself. The king had called and the Ball had begun.

* * *

**A/N: **Here comes the Ball! Persephone and Voldemort scenes to come. And perhaps a jealous Severus and a smug Rodolphus? Maybe. Please review. Tickle2Kill.


	16. Let the Music Play

~*~Let the Music Play~*~

The night outside the King's manor was black with a hidden moon and stars that did not deign to shine with enough glory to light even a thief's way. The walkway that led into the entrance of the manor was lit with dimly glowing lanterns, each with a serpent poised to strike; carved almost slyly into the brass contraption. The clear, triangle-paned glass in the lanterns cut the light into dancing shapes that reflected off of jewelry, belt buckles and certain people's cold, disinterested eyes.

The path was made of many tiny grey pebbles that crunched underfoot like a million little screams. Shrubs in the form of different fierce animals dotted the dark bluish grass of the front lawn, interspersed among slate grey fountains that by day were ivory white. The flowers of various origin that were also strewn across the wonderfully decorated front lawn were turned colorless in the night, only returned to splendor by a stray wind that rocked the closest lantern. Everything appeared dreary in this overwhelming silence, but those within the manor could not tell.

After a brisk walk along the path to the front door, those made eligible by the stone snakes were admitted into the main foyer, then escorted by a nicely dressed young mudblood who was either mute, scared into silence, or had lost their tongue for some offense. They were demure creatures that scarce seemed to notice the company they led or the significance of the celebration within the ballroom. They all had haunted hollow eyes that stared at nothing and everything at once. It would have had an effect on all those present if they had troubled themselves to care for anything aside from their own beauty and status.

But Persephone noticed. It would not leave her mind as she held Severus' arm that this poor girl who guided them was so lost and empty; scarred beyond measure and too far gone to care that she was injured in any way.

The pale pink dress the girl wore made her pretty, but also accentuated the fact that she was very sickly-looking. Her brown hair even laid limp, the hairstyle seemed deflated and cold. When she brought them to the double doors that led to the hall before the ballroom and the two young boys there pulled them apart, she drifted off back down the hall like a wraith, all in silence.

"Are they part of the Maternity Law?" she asked softly as the pale boys opened the thick double doors and allowed the muffled, lilting voice of a singer to invade the air.

"Yes and no. Most of them were captured and bound by magic to serve the King. It is his way of showcasing his power over all." her companion answered and Persephone noticed there was a big band behind the wonderful singing.

"Is it a warning to anyone thinking of treason, as well?"

"Just so, beautiful." This man's voice came from nothing as Severus went to speak and she turned her head to see who had spoken.

A tall, pale man with cerulean eyes and short, dark brown hair gazed back at her with an intense, almost lewd, stare. His face was noble, classically handsome, she could not deny, but his eyes lacked something distinctly human. There was a healing cut across his cheek, almost akin to the old scar on Severus'. She wondered if they were acquired the same way. The robes that adorned him were royal blue and fit his body with a tailor's precision, the mother-of-pearl inlay adding depth to his cloak clasp and stylish belt buckle. He had a woman on his arm that Persephone knew just by sight, though she was sure she had never met her before.

"Don't speak to her,_ husband_." the dark woman hissed, running a claw-like hand down her blood-red body-hugging dress. It had black fur trim that cupped the woman's breasts and accentuated her bony wrists. Her dress conflicted with her husband's to the point of glaring instability in their unity.

"I'll speak to whom I like as nothing I do is any of your concern. Why don't you hold your tongue? I'm sure our King's_ pleasure_ will be let down if your mouth has exhausted its usefulness before the party has even started." His wife sputtered to speak as she gaped at him, he just smirked in such a way it was alluring. "Perhaps you should close your mouth as well, flies abound in such company."

Silence took over as Bellatrix Lestrange snapped shut her mouth and glared angrily at her husband. Rodolphus simply chuckled to himself, then turned back to Persephone.

"Do they disturb you, Miss Damasca?"

"The children?" She asked, looking over her shoulder to meet his eyes as they were led from these double doors down a brighter hall which she supposed led to the ballroom. The music and singing grew louder as they went.

"Yes, those poor darlings. I'm sure they voice their misfortune mutely, begging to be saved, and it tugs at your heartstrings." Sarcasm, she noticed, was very prominent in his voice.

"All that struggles to survive in hardship calls to me, but fate does not give me leave to always help them. Would you expect me to act out for them?"

"Act out? No. Why would I wish harm on such a gorgeous figure? Fate is right in this circumstance."

"Is it right? I think it very sad you think so." she replied, glancing up to Severus and drifting closer to him. He tightened his hold on her arm and she laid her head softly on his shoulder. Both missed the flash of disgust that curled Rodolphus' lip and the glare he aimed at Severus' back.

They had reached the final set of doors and two very similar looking boys were there to open them. When they pulled and revealed the ballroom, Persephone had to catch her breath.

Shining with a warm golden glow that washed over everything from the polished mahogany floor to the ivory walls and the delicate silver curtains were large crystal chandeliers. There were two every twenty feet, about ten feet apart from each other. They illuminated everything and everyone in such detail it was hard not to see certain flaws, though the tone of the light did erase most of them. The ballroom was about five feet lower than the rest of the manor and came to an end at the edge of a cliff which was evident by the view and the people who were looking down and commenting to one another.

As Persephone and Severus stepped past the threshold, a ratty man who was entirely out of place came forward and bowed to them. She knew him well and loathed him, but couldn't understand how. It hurt to think too hard of it and she focused instead on the rat-like man as he turned to the masses and announced them.

"The Slayer Severus Snape and his paramour, Persephone Damasca." His voice echoed out past all the gathered people and she had to make herself appear unaffected by the attention as they all stared up at them. Her given title riled something within her, but she shoved it away.

After a few moments, Severus sighed and glared at the man. "Enough, Wormtail. I would see the king."

Wormtail nodded submissively and gestured vaguely. "He awaits you by the throne. Enjoy the celebrations."

They continued onward as Wormtail announced Rodolphus and Bellatrix. People made way for them and only some greeted Severus. Persephone felt both comforted by Severus' presence and discomforted by it. Everyone seemed to be looking at her and wondering things behind their shaded eyes. As she walked along the floor, her heels clicking neatly with each step and glanced up at Severus once more, words flitted through her mind with such weight she shoved aside a wave of pain to heed them.

_The death of something new is when the novelty wears off and the show loses all its awe._

Her thinking side kicked into action and she made herself become aware of everything around her and what the people seemed to be thinking. Most gave off the air of indifference, but when one looked close enough you could see the interest...the draw to know more. Rare few did not even peek at her and even less looked away. She seemed to have captured their attention...and now to put it to good use.

The king was at the opposite end of the hall and it took a few minutes to arrive there, but Persephone knew she had to be ready for this moment and spin it to her advantage. There would be no second chances here.

The king was in a dark robe that she couldn't see thoroughly at this angle, and his bald white head was proudly tilted to the side as he observed them. His pet snake, she supposed, was slithering about restlessly, hissing quietly. The throne on which the king sat was beautiful and extravagant, made up of silver and jewels that she recalled being Hogwarts house colors. Even Hufflepuff was honored with canary diamonds between the red rubies of Gryffindor, the blue sapphires of Ravenclaw and the bright emerald of Slytherin. It fit the room in a gaudy, pompous way, she thought, both showing off the king's rule and demeaning it.

"My king." Severus lowered onto a knee and she followed quickly with a deep curtsy.

"Rise, Slayer." When he did but she did not, the sovereign smirked at her. "You may rise, as well, my dear."

She did and as regally as she could muster, lifting her eyes and meeting the king's curiously. He seemed to take some pleasure from this as he smiled oddly with his lipless mouth.

"You've taught her to not fear my gaze, well done. Have you taught her to be silent, too?" the king's voice was a hiss that continued long after the words were said. She drank in this somehow familiar thing and let it find a place within her where she would not fear it.

"I assure you, my king, I can speak." she could have danced with pride at the strength of her voice.

"Ah, so you can. Come closer, Miss Damasca, I would see you better." his words were a command made gently, but a command regardless.

Her feet led her forward and she brought herself before the king, steeling her nerves as he stood and stepped down to her. He wore long, jet black robes that appeared to be like snake scales, overlapping but with a fluid movement that rustled slightly, and reflected the light with demure flashes of green and gold. It had a half-collar that buttoned perfectly right at his Adam's apple and it flowed over his thin chest handsomely. His bare feet peeked out from beneath the lightweight cloth and were as pale as the rest of him. She knew he was sizing her up by the way that he stared at her and she stared back, refusing to let him cow her with just his presence. He reached out an abnormal length of a hand and she fought back a shiver of fear and a wave of pain as she felt that space where she had forgotten something throb.

"I can see the resemblance with the eyes, Severus. Do you never mistake her for Lily in the dark?"

Her love shifted closer and he cleared his throat, but she did not understand who Lily was, even through the pin prick of pain. Was she important to him at some time? Was she still around?

"She is nothing like Lily, my king. Persephone is more...beautiful and more intelligent. She will serve you as strongly as I." She paused a moment to look back at him and smile, but he did not return it.

"I will be the judge of that, Severus. Anona," the king turned to the singer in the shimmery silver dress. "Play something appropriate, I wish to dance with Miss Damasca."

The dark-haired, almond-eyed singer nodded and flicked her short brown wand, setting the music to playing.

With a strangely warm arm, the king took her own and led her to the middle of the dance floor. He spun her and she let him, following his lead as he swayed to the beat, drawing her near to him and placing his hands in the proper spot; one in the middle of her bare back, pressing her hair to her skin, the other in her own. She was quite a few shades darker than him and she was pale to almost everyone else. It struck her as odd, but she shelved all outward thoughts and observations for later inspection.

* * *

At first he wasn't sure that Rodolphus was up to anything but when he had lost sight of him, he appeared behind him in the midst of the jovial crowd. Severus forced himself to maintain his stony facade.

"Liking the view, Severus?" came the naturally gruffly, growling voice of Rodolphus Lestrange. The scent of Firewhisky clung to him like a cologne but it was obvious that he hadn't had a drop. His oddly compelling cerulean eyes watched Severus with a jesting, knowing air.

"What are you...?" He began, but the other man smiled to show his newly whitened teeth.

"Persephone seems to be enjoying our King's presence quite a lot." The mischievous air about the man infused Severus with curiosity and he turned his head against his better judgement to follow the finger Rodolphus had pointed.

There, with a coquettish smile on her face and a hand in the King's as she laughed at something he said, was Hermione in her persona as Persephone. The traces of fear and uncertainty he was sure he would see on her flawless face were not present. The low back, high front dress accentuated her every curve and the soft trail of bare skin enticed any who looked. The lighter skin tone made her appear delicate, but she countered that with cascading chestnut tresses and sharp, forest green eyes that when introduced to the light were gorgeous polished emeralds. The Dark King twirled her, commenting on her figure, he gathered, from his wandering eye. She smirked and replied smartly, drawing a laugh from the pale King.

"Seems he's taken a liking to your lover, Severus. I would watch her closely." Rodolphus whispered, his lips far too close to Severus' ear.

"Like you watched Bellatrix?" he responded brusquely, angry at the burn of jealousy in his chest.

Rodolphus merely chuckled. "Unlike you, dear Slayer, I did not get to choose who I would marry. Nor did I get to fall in love. It seems to me you have both chances, I would loathe for you to lose them to the Dark King. His Grace would benefit from your union, besides...unless, of course, he wanted heirs. Wizards are far more fertile and for far longer than the muggle scum. He's not yet a century and he is the last of Salazar's blood. If he does wish for heirs, Miss Persephone would be the prime target. Young, beautiful...unattached. I've seen her marks from the Ministry tests, they are abnormally high. She's pureblood...she's perfect."

For a moment, Severus relished in the fact that his last minute preparations had fooled at least one probing member of his brethren. He had falsified Hogwarts-type scores from Hermione's old ones. She had been placed very advancely before she had even graduated. Those that didn't attend Hogwarts could go to other schools or some families home-schooled their children. For those cases, the Ministry had put in place tests to match the Hogwarts requirements. It had only been a matter of using his week, and his considerable power as Slayer, to add credibility to this masquerade.

"You sound enamored yourself." Severus pointed out, facing the smirking pureblood. Rodolphus was still unbearably close, but Severus was not going to be the one to back down.

"Aware, perhaps, of what you stand to lose. After all, who would wish to be with you when they could be with him? A ladyship or a Queen's power? Is it really a choice?"

As Severus went to respond, Rodolphus fading back into the crowd and to his Minister, Walter Puga. The air around became cold and he forced himself away from the balcony doors.

* * *

He was amazingly fluid and graceful for someone so intimidating and cold-like. He drew them across the floor in a sensual manner, making their hips obey the music and Persephone was in a middle distance herself, unsure but devoted to the act of confidence. She could see Severus in the corner of her eye, his hands to his sides but mask gone. His eyes burned at the two of them, but she didn't know how to calm the heat she felt from him. She made to mouth something to him, but the king stole her attention with a dip and she was forced to resume her mental participation in this dance.

"How are you faring without your brother? I had heard your mother passed six years ago, though it was superficial news and now this. It must be tempting to simply surrender to the pain." his voice was mellifluous and cold at once and she met his eyes in a bid to appear present.

"Perhaps to some, but I have had my whole life surrendered to pain, sickness, darkness and secrets...I will not live my life now in the same manner. Icarys made a mistake and I wish I could have saved him, but I cannot change what has already occurred. I have mourned until I could not breathe...it is enough to die with them while you grieve, but I am done with that now. My mother wished the world for me and I will give her what she longed for."

"Brave of you, Miss Damasca, to continue so strongly. I have seen many women crumble beneath the weight of loss." he led them further across the floor and she lost sight of Severus.

"I have lost everyone who ever mattered to me at one time or another. The heart hardens itself to such repeated attacks." she licked her lips and swayed as the music thumped through her heels.

"That it does. But it is not too hard to love Severus, I hope?"

"No, my king. My heart is hard, not dead. I love Severus as best as one can love a man, but only as much as I know him. Who is Lily?" She gave no warning she would ask such a question and saw the flicker of surprise on the king's face before it faded.

"He did not tell you? Well, that is tale reserved for his lips alone, I fear. But do not trouble yourself with it. She is dead and he is yours; rejoice." He pulled her so close she felt the urge to disengage and get away, but she simply met his eyes and the unspoken challenge. He smirked at her. "I could get used to your stare, Persephone, it speaks volumes about you, and the knowledge you crave, although I feel you know more than you let on."

For a moment she had the thought that she should break their gaze but she felt rebellious and wild at this chance to make a splash. She smirked at him as he spun her once more and let herself go a little.

"That depends on what gets offered, my king. Don't tempt me with possibilities." her voice was playful and serious combined and she saw the king's crimson eyes flicker from lighthearted to focused.

"Oh, shouldn't I tempt you? The chance of a lifetime awaits those with unbearable curiosity."

"And curiosity killed the cat. I'll bear my urges a little longer, I think." she felt him pull her closer, and move his hips against hers subtly, but still sensuously, and nearly dropped the act in suddenly reality of who she was with and what she was doing, but he spoke and she was once again within her play before she could really be apart from it.

"Not too long, I pray. Urges find ways of overwhelming the complacent. You wouldn't want to be overcome with desire to know everything there is to know, leaving nothing undiscovered, and coming to an untimely finish."

"Oh, I doubt that would happen, there is always more to know. Let me be overcome. It'll be worth the pleasure of learning everything at once. I have a sharp wit and a sharper mind for those who inspire me."

He frowned at her with inquiry. "But don't you want to be on fire with little bits of information when the full disclosure comes?"

"Merlin forbid. I want the suddenness of it all to ravage me. It's more fun that way."

An intense smirk was his reply and she returned it, letting her eyes linger on his as the music strayed to something different. The king slowed their dance and led her to the sidelines, where Severus was waiting. Her man was all sorts of uncomfortable and she immediately knew why. They must have looked a sight on that dance floor and she did remember a tone of sensuality to the song before. Just as suddenly as she was filled with recklessness, she was ripped back down to this plane and she took Severus' outstretched arm eagerly. Their sovereign nodded to her love and granted her one last smirk.

"Perhaps you are right, Severus. Your paramour seems much more interesting than Lily. I see a cleverer mind than her demeanor belies, be wary that she does not cut you as dear Lily did."

And by his parting billow, she knew she had been played.

* * *

_Was I the only one to see that wonderful loyal woman dancing like a harlot?_ he felt his jaw ticking as she came to his side and the king faded back into the masses. At first he was too furious to speak, but eventually his anger let his tongue free and he whispered harshly to her.

"What were you trying to achieve? Humiliating me will get you where exactly?"

She seemed genuinely repentant as she stared up at him and tugged him toward the balconies. As soon as they had found one and closed the doors, he cast a _Muffliato_, and she spoke.

"I...I thought if I...caught the king's attentions that it would get me closer. That was why I am here after all. I'm supposed to make a splash...so I can...can..." Her head seemed to hurt her and she closed her eyes, her legs growing wobbly beneath her. Severus caught her and his anger started to dissipate.

"What have they done to you, Hermione?" he asked and realized his mistake. But she didn't because she cried out and fell completely on him. He pulled her up close to him and frowned down at her worriedly. Something was really wrong with her. Was she sick or...a thought struck him from earlier and he frowned more. Did they..._alter_ her memory? He turned her so he could peek into her mind, but she had already recovered and found her feet. She didn't stand away from him, but buried her head in his chest and sighed.

"These headaches have got to stop...I can't understand what triggers them. I'll have to take a potion before bed, I think." she sounded weak, but when she opened her eyes they were clear and strong.

"I'll give you one, my...love." he stumbled over those words as he always did when he thought of them. It did not seem right to call her these things without knowing that she truly loved him. He had loved Lily and those words had never passed his lips. What did he have to gain from that confession but her cruel gentle laugh as she patted his knee and turned away? He did not truly love her...not yet. And not for a coquettish smile, two breasts, and eyes of emeralds; never again.

"Let's return to the Ball. I'll dance with you for the rest of the night. I don't ever want to leave your side." she smiled up at him, but he couldn't fully enjoy the rush in his chest. He wanted chocolate brown eyes to shine at him like that, not emerald green, not cold jewels with the banner of lies and jealousy.

"Of course, Persephone." He removed the spell and led them forward, opening the doors and re-entering the lively atmosphere, his eyes trained on the curve of her lips. At least that was the same. His hand at her back got trapped by her hair and he let his fingers explore it, remembering what Hermione's had been like. This was just the same and softer than he had ever imagined. When she pulled him closer by the waist he found himself lost in wanting.

Why couldn't she be herself? He longed for that woman who had restored his hope.

The crush of people on the dance floor were fully immersed in the new song, twirling like a balls of color and distracting the living hell out of him. He stared at them for a moment and was contemplating finding a place to sit, but the thought of appearing defeated while the king took his pleasure in just one dance made him driven.

He looked down at his companion once, but he had already decided. They found a place on the floor between Dolohov and Crabbe, a prime place if you didn't want intelligent conversation. Persephone grinned up at him and he knew her pain had receded. She fell into step with him and he led the dance with all the vigor of a jealous man.

"Did they give you any clues of their plans, Persephone?" he asked and she smiled up at him curiously.

"They?" her voice was truly confused and Severus realized she didn't even know the rebellion existed. That opened up a whole new thought process; what did and what didn't she know?

* * *

He was proving something, she realized, though at first the truth of it did not penetrate her mind. The moment she caught his eyes it was revealed to her. Focused, driven, and willful. He seemed to be coercing her feet to move according to his own and he pulled her near to him with each twirl, until her chest was against his. Until her eyes could look nowhere but at his.

She'd danced with a boy this way once or twice, but his face escaped her mind's eye. She could almost feel the grip of his large sweaty hand had on hers. She had thought him extraordinarily handsome back then, if pigheaded and slightly daft. He was more rightly handsome now and had grown very thoughtful and refined, more like a fine gentleman than he had ever been back then.

She hadn't seen him in the flesh since a year before the king's reign began. If she tried really hard, she could see his hooked nose and prominent brow. Persephone could even slightly recall that he knew his way around a broomstick. The word Quidditch was synonymous with his cloudy image. He had been famous, she was sure, but had still fallen for her. It baffled her.

Since her mind worked in connections, the thought of the wizarding sport brought a wide open field to the forefront. It was on the countryside, buried far from muggle eyes, and she was sitting on cool steps as four blurs played above her. They were all male, she could tell, and she wondered if all her friends were male. They flew circles around each other and passed a Quaffle haphazardly from unlikely positions. Just as the sun glinted into one of their eyes and caused them to drop the ball, a dark-haired boy glanced down at her and grinned.

She was so proud to be party to his happiness. Persephone tried to place his face or even his name, but nothing emerged. Only the rising of another headache, so she shoved those memories and thoughts away.

Instead, she focused on Severus' body against her own and it surprised her how much she truly welcomed his embrace. The thought of her dance with the king made her feel both guilty and peeved. How could she dance with him like that? How could she speak to him like that? She was angry at herself, but she wondered how this affected her standing in the King's eyes. Her main goal was to become important to the general mass and the king's favor, 'making a splash' as it were that would secure many ripples and tides to keep her both afloat and relevant. There was something about puzzles pieces she was supposed to weasel out of her new allies.

As she bent her head back to ask Severus if he knew anything about it, she noticed that he was staring deeply into her eyes. It sent a shiver down her spine and she caught her breath. Suddenly puzzles didn't seem to matter anymore.

"Herm...Persephone, what are you thinking about?" she registered a slip in his speech and let it rest in her mind for later perusal.

"It...does it truly matter? It was nothing important."

"Would you not even whisper it to me?" his voice held a tone she couldn't quite place. Her eyes trailed to his lips and suddenly a jaunty tune filtered through their moment, separating more than just their hand-holds. His inquisitive gaze lost its glow and suddenly she felt a gulf between them. They jerkily found the rhythm of the dance and joined in, but she could feel Severus attempting to guide them off the dance floor. It would be rude to simply step off in the middle of a dance.

She urged them on faster, aiming as he was for a moment alone. They were four steps from the table near the king's throne when she saw him.

Haggard, wild-eyed and dressed in ill-fitting finery, the brown-haired man was advancing on the chatting king. Something made her loosen her grip on Severus' hands and she found herself drawn to the man. Her feet carried her out of Severus' arms and she was surprised that she was running. She could hear heavy footfalls behind her, overtaking hers, but she could not stop herself.

The man lifted his wand and she knew the spell before he even opened his mouth to utter it. She could have stood by and let it happen. She could have found a reason why it was justified. She could have done something other than she did, but all her heart told her that this was the only way. The king could not die without the destruction of the puzzle pieces.

And with that thought she threw herself into the frowning king's chest as a vivid green light hurtled toward them.

* * *

**A/N:** Yay cliffie! Hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Sorry it took so long, I had to dig through my folders and notebooks to find a handwritten scene that I was meant to add to this a long time ago but -Procrastination- happened and I couldn't post this chapter without it. I think I pulled off what I wanted. Let me know what you think. Also, the reason for Bellatrix and Rodolphus' strained marriage is solely from an interview of JKR's I read once where she stated that Voldemort was Bellatrix's only love. I just imagine Bella and Dolph not really getting along outside of their devotion to the Dark Lord. Besides, I think that Bellatrix loved Voldemort too much to want to have children by anyone but him, which means that Rodolphus is going to be left in the cold in the heir department. That may play in later in the story. May be my headcanon, but I like it nonetheless because it intrigues me. Tickle2Kill.


	17. Show of Hands

~*~Show of Hands~*~

Three bodies slammed into the ground, then a fourth followed a few seconds after with a deep scream. The commotion around the throne became a cacophony of shrieks, orders and spells. Someone was corralling the masses to the other side of the ballroom, a woman's voice ensured that they all knew Anti-Apparation wards had been activated. Security measures were being enforced so quickly and so well that Voldemort was filled with a wave of pride, but if another woman screamed he would soon lose all patience.

A mass of chestnut hair was obscuring his vision, but the soft flesh it clung to made up for the annoyance. The king let the shock of slamming into the corner of his throne flee his body to make room for his anger. The emerald eyes looking up at him were slightly wide, but a frown marred her face, she seemed almost...peeved.

Amused, even through his anger, Voldemort rose, bringing the woman with him. She found her feet rather fast, her wand poised in front of her, her lips pursed in concentration. Severus was by his attacker, holding the brown-haired man up by his scruff, tightening the bonds on him if he so much as wriggled too much. A snapped wand lay at their feet. Bellatrix was hovering a few feet away, her fanatic eyes wide and frightened, her husband was busy calming the guests. The dignitaries were each with their escorts, each being eased by words. Another wave of pride hit him, but Voldemort served no emotions, save rage.

"Silence." It was not loud, nor was it really strong, but the message spread with such speed it amazed him. Even the people who weren't under his control yet closed their mouths and stared in eager anticipation of reassurance and guidance.

Persephone Damasca was standing closer to her escort now, looking from the man he held in bonds to Severus' sharp eyes. Voldemort saw his most faithful grant the woman a look of strength and praise. It made him even more proud of his followers, finally they were doing as he would have them do.

"Severus, bring this man to me."

The attacker was full up with self-righteousness and it made him immune to fear for the moment. He had his jaw out in defiance, his muddy brown eyes narrowed and angry. How he knew this look well. Every single member of the Light had carried this attitude with vigor, consumed by their own goals and thoughts of what was right for the world. What was the driving force behind the attempt he wondered?

"So," he began, easing into his natural grace and power, "you come into my home to make discord? Is this how far the rebellion has fallen?"

"I want my wife!" the man yelped, his voice as self-assured as it could be.

"Is she worth an innocent girl's death?" He moved out of the way to show one of the Muggleborn serving girls on the polished floor, staring blankly at nothing in death. She had taken the Killing Curse meant for him.

The man gazed over once, lost his contempt in surprise and then recovered with obvious denial of what his actions had caused. The righteous know naught but the right.

"Is she?" he pressed again. "I had thought the world would be better with your kind in charge...you preached as much, but this...this is murder."

"You've murdered more than little girls in frilly dresses! You've murdered families in the name of your crusade! You are the King of Hell! King on the Throne of Bodies!" The man was shaking from his passion and he gasped when the bonds restricted him.

"Yes, death is a sad necessity to cure this world of rot and disease. To rid this plain of the festering wound that is the Greater Good. My kingdom, as it is and shall forever be, will not abide needless death. Do you deny her death was needless?" he stepped closer to the man and watched as he fought to remain piqued instead of fearful.

"I was aiming for you!" he spit out.

"Ah, but you missed. Is this justified in the eyes of the Light? Hmm?"

"I don't speak for the Light. The Light is dead!"

Voldemort's lipless mouth curled with satisfaction and he felt himself chuckle. "I know. Severus, take him from my sight. I will not have more death here in front of my guests."

Severus met his eyes and he nodded, pulling the man from the ballroom by his scruff. The man's eyes widened and he fought against his bonds, not crying out even when the ropes bit into his flesh. His words seemed clogged in his throat and his eyes danced like waves in the sea. Finally, as Severus was about to cross the threshold, he found his tongue.

"My wife! I want my wife!" the sound cut off abruptly and the gathered people looked around expectantly.

A few of the dignitaries had regained their aloof air and were shifting restlessly. Voldemort glanced at the dead girl and a thought struck him. He buried his smirk and drafted a somber expression to better suit the act. Sweeping across the small space, he registered that all eyes were on him. Persephone had knelt by the lifeless girl and he crouched, joining her. She looked up at him softly and he faltered for a moment.

Something in her look made him pause, made him think, and he didn't know whether to embrace it or abhor it. She lightly took his hand and placed it on the girl's forehead, guiding it to the girl's crown in a gesture he had seen many parents do. Suddenly, he had to re-evaluate his entire view of her, so Slytherin and clever was her silent advice. He had had a vague idea of what to do, but her guidance made his plan clear. Voldemort stood, scooping the thin girl into his arms like a father would, made his face a grieving father's mask and turned slightly to the mass behind him.

The girl's eyes were open and staring in shock, watching him without a hint of accusation. He actually liked that, the thought that this girl didn't have a vengeful thought concerning him. The one moment when he was surrounded by the spirits of those he had killed in that graveyard had haunted him, tainted him and seeing his kills about him unsettled him. This girl had no such look and he used this to fuel his play.

"This precious girl is a muggleborn, brought under my protection by the law I created." He spoke gently and kindly, meeting the eyes of his audience. "She did nothing wrong, harmed no one, simply served me and my household dutifully. Her loss should not have occurred. I created this law to nurture the ignorant and guide them to where they are meant to be. The Greater Good would see all like her perish, if they can but kill me. My death, to their self-righteous minds, is worth all of the muggleborns in my protection. This," he said, brushing the hair from the girl's pale face, staring into her eyes for a moment. "is the way of the Light."

Persephone shifted and he felt her step up to him, lay one of her hands to the small of his back and her other to the girl's face. She responded like a mother to the heavy weight in his arms and pressed a sad kiss to the girl's cheek. When she stood straight again, he noticed that she had closed the girl's pale blue eyes.

He continued, "My kingdom is flawed in a few ways, but the alternative is this. The alternative is needless, thoughtless, murder." He made a show of letting grief overcome him and turned from the mass, walking with Persephone to the stairs by his throne. He gestured for her to sit and she did, opening her arms when she saw him hand the girl to her. Voldemort let his irritation show for a split second before he fell back into his character and spun to the people.

"I would cut this Ball short in light of this terrible act. My loyal servants will see you home safe. Farewell."

He let them see his back and gazed at the picture painted by his throne, a mother holding a dead child, mourning. He knew what his last act would be. He went to Persephone's other side and sat across from her, laying his hand gently on the dead girl's face.

It felt like ages he sat there in mock-mourning, waiting for the ballroom to clear. He had to sit on his outrage to keep it from exploding outward. How could that attacker get past the security? How did he not see the man coming? Growing soft, old man, his mind quipped and he bit his tongue to stop the words that floated to his mouth with all the taste of acid. He had slaved over this goal since he was a teen and he would not see it broken because he had achieved it. His work was not yet done.

Wormtail shut the doors with a thud and went about closing the balcony ones. The only people in the room were himself, Wormtail and Persephone. He took a deep breath, mastering his fury and gazed up at Persephone. She was staring directly at him as though waiting, wondering, observing. Her gaze was not the one of the dance earlier, but of something entirely different. It felt like she was measuring him and his worth, which confused him and he broke.

"Wormtail!" the rat-like man jumped and hurried over. "Take this girl and dispose of her." When Persephone hesitated, he growled. "_Now_!"

Wormtail grunted as he lifted the dead body and scurried out of the room with the gait of a club-foot troll.

"I would bury her to...to appeal to the masses. It would solidify that you care."

The king heard her words, but he was too far within his head to answer. He could feel a tick in his jaw, could feel the anger rising and he wanted to kill something. He had nearly been made a fool of, all his hard work destroyed for a little inattentiveness. He loathed the thought that it might have been his own. His wand was in his hand and he only narrowly stopped himself from burning the drapes in pent-up aggression.

"My king?" her voice was like cold water on a feverish body. He turned to her and saw her emerald eyes watching him quietly. Her delicate pale hand laid gently against his face and her thumb brushed his cheek. It calmed him, but in indignation of that realization he pulled away sharply.

"It would be wise for you to be silent, Miss Damasca."

"Wise, perhaps, but of little help." he flicked his eyes to her and she ran her hands over her dress, pressing out the wrinkles. "Your anger will cloud your judgement, you shouldn't make any decisions right now."

"Do you presume to tell me what to do? You have only just come to court." He advanced on her, feeling gratified that he could unleash a little fury on someone. It liked to eat away at him if he didn't see it divided amongst his followers.

"Does that make my words any less true?" she didn't seem to have an ounce of fear in her body and he almost lashed out to see if he could pull it from her.

"And what would you have me do?" he asked, confused once more as to why he was asking.

"Wait. Let this settle into the brains of the dignitaries and their leaders, let them make their move. Bide your time. Making a rash decision now would only unsettle you more. Besides, now is the time for caution, for investigation. You were either betrayed tonight or missing important details. Neither should be left to their own devices." she was touching him again, her fingers over the ones around his wand, and he noticed the significance of it. She would try to trick him with subtle feminine ways. Her words did hold a kernel of truth though.

"My king." came Severus' voice just as he went to speak. The dour man came to stand beside Persephone and he was obviously waiting for instruction. Severus glanced at his woman once, then maintained his dutifully steady gaze.

"You have done well, but I would be alone. Go home, Severus, and take Miss Damasca with you. I will summon you if you are needed again."

He watched his Slayer bow and the woman curtsy, then the former turned to leave. The latter met Voldemort's eyes again, half-smiled, and let her soft fingers brush his cheek before turning her bare-back to him and following Severus out, her long hair swaying. He noticed for the first time that the Killing Curse had caught the ends of her hair and burned at least an inch off.

The King on the Throne of Bodies stood silent, his hand on his cheek as he felt the peace there. A frown turned to a snarl and a single amethyst drape went up in flames.

* * *

The face of the dead girl haunted her as she and Severus walked along the pebbled path to the gates. She had done everything on automatic, too shocked and worried to really form a plan in her head. Persephone knew everyone was watching and she couldn't quell the thought that she had to perform like never before. Part of her hated what she had done, how she had assisted the king; another part of her celebrated the massive success.

Severus was quiet beside her and she glanced up at him. His face was calm, but she could see a thin layer of both stress and worry laced into the muscles. Her hand found his without a thought and he broke from his reverie, allowing obsidian eyes to take her in. She smiled up at him and pulled his head down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss on his lips. For a moment, she felt him respond, then he pulled back sharply, looking away.

The night air was choking on its own chill, causing a heavy hush to lay over everything. The once swinging lamps sat stoic and silent, the lights dimmed where she and Severus were not. A bird took off from a tree and made a bee-line over their heads to the opposite side of the lawn, roosting noisily in one of the topiary figures.

A few yards ahead, the dark gates loomed, seemingly deflecting the warm lantern light. Persephone knew they would cross the threshold and Apparate back, but she felt compelled to stop at the metal clasping itself before them. Severus pulled his hand from hers and dug within his robes for his wand. She let him, but as he began to cast the spell that would allow them passage, she laid a hand over his.

"What happened tonight..." she began, trying to form her point even as words slipped past her lips.

"Later. Once we are within my manor walls..." his voice was sure and clear, brooking no argument. Her words seemed to not heed this at all.

"Why then, why not now?"

"You risked your life!" He shouted, fury sitting like a coat upon his shoulders. "You could have died and I would not have been there to save you. Are you so vapid as to throw away the only life you have and mine with it?!"

Persephone slapped him across the face, pausing for a brief moment in her ire to look apologetic, and spoke.

"He couldn't be killed! He cannot fall until the puzzle pieces are destroyed. We have to protect him until we can crush him. He is more delicate than you know."

"Puzzle pieces?" He asked, stepping closer to her. "Did you dance with him like that for puzzle pieces? Whatever they are."

"No. No matter what we said on that balcony, I can see your anger. Let us clear this misunderstanding before you find strength and stubbornness at home."

He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, but stayed silent. Persephone saw this as encouragement.

"Thank you." she squeezed his hand and his shoulders relaxed a little. "What I did back there was what I was supposed to do. Make a splash, that's all I hear in my head. Whatever you thought, however it appeared...it was nothing. My heart is yours, Severus."

"You don't know your heart well, then. You know nothing about me." he mumbled and she sighed.

"I don't know everything, I agree. But I know enough to love you." she replied, trying to make him meet her eyes.

"No." he said it so quietly that she thought she hadn't heard him, but he continued. "What love could you possibly harbor for me? You've known me a week...year at best." he stumbled over his words and she saw him curse himself. "You don't know enough of anything to love me."

"Fine. Maybe I don't, but that doesn't mean I can't. And who are you to tell me about what my heart feels?" she felt angry and tired and couldn't stop the words that flowed from her lips.

"Who am I?" his hand was suddenly free from hers and he stepped away. "You haven't known anything but foolish love from days when you're too hormonal to know the difference. I've known love and I can tell you now that you don't have it for me."

She was quiet for a moment, thinking. He had turned his back to try to speak the spell again. When she finally spoke it was like the shadow of a whisper. "Did you love Lily?"

Severus whirled around to her, eyes ablaze, and when his black caught her green, he stopped. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He looked away from her and his lower jaw jutted out, then back as he took a deep breath. His anger fled from his face and he turned his back to her again. Persephone stared at him, waiting, hoping, unsure.

Severus flicked his wand and spoke the spell silently, watching as the gate drifted open before them. He walked through, waited for her, and made sure the gate shut back again. Once more, she was torn; part of her wanted to take back what she had said, the other part was determined to see the truth. She watched as he reached out, pulling her close to him without asking and spinning before she could take a breath.

Persephone wasn't sure if her body constricted or her heart.

* * *

_Why did she have to press? What part of her would be consoled to hear the old story of my first love? Had the king placed this thought in her head? What were they talking about when they were dancing?_

Severus had abruptly left Persephone standing in the foyer when they had arrived, crossing the space to the stairs and weaving his way through the halls to his room. The door slammed behind him without his conscious thought and he was brought to a sudden level of awareness by the resounding silence after the satisfying bang. He had been rude to her, he knew, but a lingering amount of pride refused to allow him to step back to the foyer and apologize.

_What do I have to apologize for?_ Anger flooded into his chest and he pulled the tie from his hair, then loosed his top buttons and cuffs. He thought he saw Grepa appear in the corner of his vision, but when he looked she was nowhere to be found. The smell of tea found its way to his nostrils and he shook his head with a scoff at the absurdity of what the house elf thought that he needed. _Yes, scald your tongue and it will surely ease your heart._

He laughed derisively at the gesture, but found his fingers lifting the dainty cup to his lips. In his aimless ire, he tried to foolishly guzzle the steaming liquid and found himself sputtering and coughing past the burning in his throat. Tears sprang to his eyes and he sat down on his bed to gather himself.

_Perfect, absolutely perfect. You, sir, are the one and only who could accomplish such a feat as that_. His mind sounded scarily like an absurd mixture of Lucius and the Weasley twins and it wrung a laugh from his tortured chest. As he choked in a gasp of air and wiped breathless tears from his eyes, he was struck by a thought. I'm going insane.

_Well, my heart still hasn't eased_, he noted, clearing his throat to breathe properly. It was scratchy.

Just as he went to think over everything and mull out the happenings of the night, he was struck by a sudden wave of fatigue. He closed his eyes and leaned back until he lay flat on his bed with his long legs hanging over. What he wouldn't give to simply drift off and forget any of this had ever occurred. Severus felt that this advent of life into him had flung his emotions back twenty years, back to where he brooded and sighed and let himself be filled with melancholy. His heart welcomed the new urges, but he couldn't stand the random, lack-of-control that came with them.

He was starting to drift, letting go and vanishing off to that space where he didn't dream, when a soft, airy breathing washed over his face. It was like that of an animal and it seemed familiar and yet completely foreign. He hesitated, almost wanting to deny the thing, but his ingrained senses would not allow him to. Dark, tired eyes cracked open until Severus could see the thing above him.

A gruff grey-ish bison, with short, pointed black horns and shaggy white fur huffed over him, standing curiously well between his bed and drawers at his head. It's one blue eye wandered over his face and back before it stepped away and Severus rose.

"_It is time to confer, Hades, about this winter and its tidings_." the voice was Alastor Moody and from this side Severus could see a brown eye.

The bison shifted feet with a mass of moving muscles, raised its head, and vanished.

* * *

"I'm coming!" Ginny yelped as Ron said the same and Moody scoffed, tucking away his wand.

"This meeting is meant to be quick and non-confrontational. You two will simply bring fire to oil and destroy this fragile balance. I go alone!" the old man had hobbled away, leaving them in the Order tactic room, but Weasleys don't easily give in.

"I'm going with you if I have to latch myself to your peg-leg!" Ginny told him, narrowing her eyes and staring at him.

"Shut your mouth, girl. My decision stands." He continued to hobble, his cane smacking the ground sharply with each step.

"You're taking me, Alastor, whether you want to or not. You barred us from saying good-bye, you won't give us any details and you've suspended nearly all our missions. Kingsley and Remus are the only ones that really do anything anymore. You've done enough coddling, I won't let you bar me from this." Ginny whipped around in front of the older man, stopping his progress.

"What if there is nothing to be learned?" he said, calculatingly.

"So I'll be bored...being around Ron will do that."

"What if he fights?"

"You really expect me to run? Grow up."

"And what if we are found out?

"I'll take a few of those bastards with me. What's your point?"

"Remus needs help corralling the wolves he's brought back, he needs as many hands as he can get." The cane was leaned on heavily and the old Auror sighed.

"Ron will stay." she reasoned, stepping forward. "Remus'll be fine an hour without me."

"But you've got the best hand with them, they listen to you."

"And they listen to Remus. I'll do double time when I get back. I. Am. Going." she pressed her finger into his chest with each word, until the weight of it made him take a step back.

He closed his eyes, worked his mouth as though to fight a particularly bad taste, then growled, "Be silent, be quick and don't get in the way."

Ginny cheered silently and Ron gripped her hand, rushing off to help Remus. Her hair was short and lingered by her ears which she found had made everything easier, she adjusted the tiny gold clips to hold her hair back. The green sleeves of her healer's robes were already rolled up, so she simply pulled out her wand and took off after the gruff Moody.

Dolliver's Vial weaved downwards to where it crossed paths with Aeronymph and they trekked along the dusty path at a brisk pace. Soon enough the trail led west on Castor Lane, then southwest and towards the door to Erebus Books. The twisted lane of Ariana Rd stretched out behind them as they worked their way out of the refuge.

She stayed silent, she stayed no more than a foot behind him and she avoided his swinging cane. Within moments they were by the stairs and she let him have a head start before taking them three at a time. Her thoughts turned to Harry, who hadn't surfaced since his last mumble, and she bypassed Moody by accident as he pushed open the door.

"Don't get in the way." he reminded and she bit her tongue from saying, "Don't move so slow."

The old man took the lead once more as they ascended the dark passage to the bookstore above them. She mostly ignored the books and the dust around her, thinking more about how she was going to rein herself in. She did want to be at the meeting, but she also wasn't sure what she would do just by reflex to the man who had slain Dumbledore. Now that she was sure she was going to be at this first after-Ball meeting, Ginny had to plan her mode of attack.

She could go in wand blazing like Ron would, or she could be smart. Silent, calm, aware, listening to every word that was being said and waiting for the right moment. She needed to keep her head for once, be like Hermione would be. Ginny felt a bubble of worry so strong she could taste it in the back of her throat. What was Moody's reasoning? Why hadn't they been allowed to say goodbye? She had tried to ask Mad-Eye quite a few times since Hermione left, but he wouldn't give them even a word.

It awakened something within her, and she stared at the man before her calculatingly, suspicious.

They Disillusioned themselves and crossed the threshold of Erebus Books, walking at a much faster pace than in the Refuge. The alleyways loomed like thick, lifeless trees to either side of them and they huddled closer together to avoid the biting wind. The nights around the streets of Knockturn had begun to be frigid and blistery, filled with the promise of icy sleet or eventual snowfall. The warmth inside the refuge did not prepare her for the chill of the outside and she shivered.

It took only about ten minutes to weave over the two blocks to the Nest. Moody cast a few spells around the area they were and turned to her.

"Once we enter, I don't want you to speak unless there is a need. He will be on edge just by the sight of you, so keep your head. This alliance can't be put in jeopardy for old anger. Hermione showed me that. Are you ready?" his voice was softer and Ginny touched his arm as she nodded.

"Yes. Let's go."

He nodded back to her and they proceeded inside. They removed their spells at the threshold.

The Nest looked as it always did and a little squeaking rat dashed away from them and past a tall dark man. He was sitting in a chair and his head was bowed, but he lifted it wearily when they entered. If he had had bonds on his arms, he would have looked like a prisoner. A rush went up her chest when she met his eyes and her fingers twitched towards her wand, but she kept it sheathed. She had to be wise and calm about this. He might have killed Dumbledore, but she didn't have to ruin everything and kill him.

"You've brought back-up?" he asked and she could easily hear the fatigue in his voice.

"No, Slayer. She just wants assurances that Hermione's alright, wouldn't take no for an answer."

The Slayer rolled his shoulders, popped his neck, and sighed. "It makes no matter. Come ask me what you will and let me leave. This night has been too long."

Moody bristled at the monotone, but kept on task. "What news is there to tell us?"

The aphotic man shifted forward and his hair fell about his face, but he spoke nonetheless.

"The Ball went for the most part as their kind are wont to do. Dancing, singing, socializing. Hermione danced with our dear King and they both enjoyed themselves." Ginny frowned, both at the words and the fact that he had said Hermione and not Miss Granger.

"Enjoyed? How?"

"They danced, they spoke; am I to hover over them and hear their every word? If you will, at some point in time you can have her come here and...oh," the obsidian eyes before them turned gleeful through the exhaustion. "I seem to have forgotten that Hermione is Persephone and for fear of her lacking Occlumens talents, she cannot see your face. Heavens forbid your champion should know you even exist."

Moody glanced at her and Ginny felt even more suspicious than she had back in the bookstore. He wasn't telling them something, she knew it now. But what was he withholding? She stepped forward against her better judgement and met the black orbs that watched her.

"What do you mean? What's happened?"

"And you haven't even conferred with your lions? What foolishness have you stooped to? You of all should know how they like to roar and throw a frenzy when they find out things they don't agree with."

"This is not the time, Slayer. What happened at the Ball?" Moody ignored her completely and she felt her anger crawling again, but it wasn't aimed at the former Potions Professor.

Snape relayed the details of the Ball, from what people wore to what music played to what smells permeated the air. He spoke of Hermione as Persephone and put much emphasis on the name. Ginny heard only parts of the visitors from the different countries who the King would win over and watched Snape's face as he spoke of her friend. At times his face was soft and caring, at others it was harsh and furious. She was baffled by them both.

"A man came, the husband of the woman I gave in Hermione's stead. He attempted to assassinate the King. Persephone tackled the King to the ground and saved his life. Then she played to the crowd and made the King look sympathetic. I did not see much, I was busy with Wilbur."

"Did the people seem to believe the things that Hermione did? Did it work?" Moody was too eager, Ginny's wand met her fingertips before she could stop it, but at this angle, no one could see the length of wood in her palm and caught between her middle and ring finger.

"Of course it worked, but we won't see the effects until much later. All these things have to be rehashed with all the Ministers and Presidents, people have to make decisions. I've told you all I know." It seemed this thing was at an end, but Ginny would not let it go.

"How is Hermione?" she asked, stepping to her left and before Moody, wanting Snape to know his answer was meant for her. The man smirked and vanished his chair, standing taller than she remembered. His shirt collar was open and his pale neck was visible as well as his collarbone, his cuffs were undone also. His hair wasn't as greasy as she remembered either and he wore fine formal robes in black. He looked like a different man, but healthy as Hermione had said.

"As for Hermione, I cannot say. Perhaps she is lost...perhaps she is just hidden behind some falsehood. Persephone is well enough, I suppose. As well as any falsehood can be." he sighed and stood. "Before I go," he eyed them both and Ginny frowned. "What puzzle pieces are so important Persephone would risk her life for them? And why must they be destroyed before the King?"

Moody stood up straight. "Persephone knows. She'll do what needs to be done."

"Let us hope you do not suffer from Albus' failings and that you share your knowledge before it kills a multitude. Heaven knows there are few enough of you as it is." The Slayer pulled an empty smirk and she knew he was going to leave.

Moody went to speak and Ginny reached out, latching her hand to the Slayer's wrist just as he spun away.

* * *

**A/N**: It is actually kind of fun getting into Voldemort's mind. I feel both evil and very intelligent. I don't even have to use a thesaurus to find words. But going from Voldemort to Ginny is like changing into a coat you don't fit anymore. Thank you to all that reviewed. I would be Remus if I did not say I love you, Siriusly. (Pun intended) Tickle2Kill.


	18. Funeral Audience

~*~Funeral Audience~*~

There was ground beneath her feet but Ginny kept her eyes closed, she wasn't sure yet if she'd been Splinched. With her eyes closed, she could sense everything around her in greater detail.

Arms that were thin but strong with lean muscle were around her tightly and the man they belonged to was breathing heavily. He smelled like fire and Potions, and the familiarity of it confused her before her scared mind joined with her present predicament and she leapt back in shock.

Her eyes were open and she was looking straight at the open arms of Severus Snape, the Slayer himself. He was watching her with tired, half-concerned eyes and she thought of her brother, Bill, after a long day at Gringotts. When her brother was like this, he would come and sit beside her and close his eyes, falling asleep if she didn't move him to bed. Fleur had seen to that task after the two had gotten together and Ginny hadn't had to worry about that type of thing for quite awhile. Maybe it was this absence of sisterly care that made her want to cart the Slayer to his bed and make sure he had the mind enough to remove his shoes before he fell face-first into slumber.

The thought struck her back to herself and she noticed they were in a very well-to-do foyer.

"Are you alright, Miss Weasley?" he asked, and it sounded like she was in Hogwarts still, half-scared that he was a Professor and half-happy that she wasn't alone in the cavernous halls.

"I...I..." she couldn't find her tongue and was surprised to find that her wand was in her hand.

The Slayer advanced sluggishly, but somehow still gracefully and she lifted her weapon to warn him off. He raised an eyebrow that was halfway between humor and irritation. When his steps didn't falter, she lifted her wand higher and watched as he sidestepped it and pushed her arm down at once. He met her eyes and then looked her over quickly, before pulling out his wand and pressing the tip into her bicep. The robes she wore were ripped slightly and when she chanced a look down to see what he was up to, she saw that she had a thin cut that was bleeding. The Slayer's wand followed the wound and both blood and pain vanished. Before she could mutter a word, he had also healed it.

He stepped back from her and closed his eyes. "You need to leave before she wakes. She can't see you."

Ginny frowned and then grew angry. "Moody kept me from her, but you won't!" She charged up the stairs and even blocked a spell he cast as she went. She heard him curse behind her and kept going. Maybe if she made enough noise, Hermione would hear her.

"Hermione!" she called, over and over, knocking on doors and doing nothing to quieten her footfalls. She was towards the end of this hall, where the living room could be seen from the top of another set of stairs when he caught her. His spell made her rigid and his arms grabbed her as she fell. He quickly yanked her wand from her frozen fingers and tugged her backwards.

Her first thought was that he would kill her, but he simply Disillusioned her and carted her back down the hall. A door opened, she could hear it, and a small voice echoed out.

"Severus? Is that you?"

Ginny struggled but it made no matter, she was unable to move.

* * *

_Foolish girl!_, he raged, but part of him knew he was also to blame. He should have Apparated her straight back, but he was tired and wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and rest for the next day or so._ I've grown so lax over these four years_.

"Yes, Persephone. Go back to bed."

"I thought I heard a woman's voice. Is someone else there?" He could hear her feet as they padded naked across the floor. He shoved the Weasley girl into a corner where she couldn't be seen even by her shimmer and stashed away his and the Weasley girl's wands. When he glanced at the space the redhead occupied, he felt he could almost see her brown eyes glaring at him.

Persephone came around the corner in a nightgown she must have transfigured, it was white and fell just to her knees. Her calves moved like rippling waves as she walked over to him.

"There's no one, my love. You must have been dreaming."

"No...I was reading _Hogwarts: A History_ again, that chapter on Ravenclaw and her life. I had forgotten it was on my desk." she paused, then met his eyes. "Am I your love again?"

_Oh_, he had forgotten his anger in the rush of events from the last five minutes. He found himself drawn to her and he reached out for her hand. She let him hold it, though he could see in her eyes that she hadn't forgiven him.

"My...my actions earlier were from faults of my own. Whatever I said or did not say to hurt you, I take it back." The words were only half-truths and he knew it all too well.

"Oh." she looked to the ground, then back up once more. "If you are to send me off to bed, at least give me a kiss."

He hesitated, thinking of the Weasley woman, but he had no choice. That, or he did not want to have one. Leaning forward, he cupped his hands around the back of Persephone's head and pressed his lips securely on hers. She responded acutely and he shuddered from the desire to continue. He was kissing sunlight and it was burning him alive.

When he finally pulled away, Persephone's eyes were closed and she licked her lips.

"Good night, Severus."

"Good night, Persephone."

He waited until she went around the corner and entered her room. He peeked to make sure she was really in her room before he dashed back to the Weasley woman and dragged her back to a safer part of the house.

His study seemed appropriate and he placed her inside, closing the door behind them and warding it. Severus closed in on her and she glared at him so strongly he knew she would claw his eyes out if he let her.

"I would remove this spell, but I need your word that you will mind yourself. Will you?" he asked and she glared for another moment, then she seemed to deflate beneath her stone visage. He nodded and removed the spell, stepping back from the free woman.

"You little bastard." she growled, shaking her fists angrily. "How dare you kiss her?"

Laughing with an unguarded strength, Severus pocketed her wand and his own. "Did you miss the fact that she asked for it? Rein in your Gryffindor rage for half a moment and think. In a week, would Hermione have acted that way towards the man who killed Dumbledore?"

The little Weasley frowned and he could see that she had already been in doubt before he had been gifted with her presence. Her brown eyes narrowed and she stepped up to him.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," he began, sighing at the remembered pain of disappointment. "that she is not Hermione." the woman across from him opened her mouth, but he continued. "Perhaps she is still beneath Persephone, buried in the back of her own mind. But as she is now...there is no Hermione here for you to see. She would not recognize you if she saw you and even if she did...the pain it would cause her I cannot allow."

"Pain?" They both found seats and sat, watching each other as they spoke.

"When things that Hermione knows are brought up, Persephone is struck by pain in her mind. It's as if she is trying to remember, but some sort of magic is denying her. After a while she will not think of those things at all for fear of the pain. She'll forget that there is anyone else in the world aside from Persephone. I believe that if she forgets completely, Hermione will be no more. She will be less than Lockhart." He could feel the weight of truth in his words and he gazed steadily at his guest to see if she would.

By the little frown on her brow, he knew that she did. "Moody wouldn't let us see her before she left. Wouldn't let us say goodbye or...or anything. What did he do?"

"Obliviated her is my best guess. To what extent, however, I cannot tell you."

The Weasley's only daughter shot to her feet and stomped up to him with such bravado that he drew back. "Give me my wand."

The order sounded so violent he could feel the blood running out of the wounds she had yet to create. "What are you...?" he began to ask, but she stomped her foot and widened her eyes at his hesitation.

"I'm going to go back to the refuge and rip _Alastor-bloody-Moody_ another mouth, maybe one that will tell the Merlin-forsaken truth! Now you can either give me my wand or you can be practice. I'd like to see how a muggle would do it."

Severus, for once in his whole entire life, was truly frightened of a Weasley.

* * *

The refuge was quiet, it was night and all were asleep. Ginny found herself charging down Dolliver's Vial to Moody's room in the Auror quarters in complete and utter silence. If she hadn't been so completely angry, she might have been surprised that this level of order could be achieved in the refuge. But currently all she noticed was the fact that the lights in Moody's section were on.

_Good_, she growled within her own head, _the better to see him with_.

She had met Kingsley at the door and he had looked relieved that she was alright. She had graced him with a small hello before setting herself on the warpath.

Her feet carried her all the way to his door and she discarded manners as she spelled the door open, charging inside with little more than a thimbleful of caution, Ginny flicked a barrier before her as an afterthought as she stepped over his threshold. Whatever curse he had rigged to attack unwanted visitors bounced off her shield and she continued all the way to his bedroom. When she lifted her wand to open the door, he did it for her, Moody's sleepy-shocked face staring back at her.

"You fat old bastard!" she cursed, pressing her wand into his jowls. "You obliviated her? Hermione? The one person who never failed us? How could you?!"

"Ginevra, you must think about this. We only had a week. No matter how loyal she was she would have gotten us all killed. I did it to save us!"

"Have you no sense of trust, you paranoid git? She would have done more than you can imagine to secure our insider, even if she had to become everything she abhorred. She had set her mind to it, had gone the distance that some of us wouldn't and you erased her entire existence?"

"She's still there." Moody told her, his blue eye completely still. "I only suppressed the Hermione parts of her. Fundamentally, Persephone is a pureblood Hermione, with nearly all her memories. I blurred us out, the refuge, the Order, but she still remembers everything."

"Can you turn her back?" Ginny asked, her wand falling an inch or two.

"Yes. But now is not the time."

"When_ exactly_ is the time?" she asked, her wand back to its position.

"When the King trusts her with his heart."

"He doesn't have one, Moody. You know that as well as any."

"And who has fueled this belief? It wasn't the Order."

"He's torn his soul in too many pieces to have a heart." Ginny stated, thinking she could curse Moody and still live to see tomorrow.

"He tore his soul, but no one ever said a thing about his heart. It's the one thing he's never shown anyone...and it's the one thing Hermione will be able to get. She just doesn't know it yet."

* * *

Severus had finally curled up in his covers and closed his eyes to the world around him, drifting off into that space where he neither dreamed nor woke until morning would come. But as he surfaced to flop to his other side, he felt breath brush his face again and he nearly cursed the entire rebellion.

When he opened his eyes, he was greeted with a horse, a beautiful fifteen-hand-high grey mare. She watched him humanly and he realized the pointed glare.

"_Come to the Nest, Slayer, your wards are up_." The Weasley woman's voice echoed out and he sighed, but nodded. He really wanted to sleep, but he drew himself away from his warm bed and threw a soft black robe over his clothing, preceding out of his rooms.

At the stairs, just as he thought of Apparating, he simply smirked and flicked his wand twice. Attuning his wards to one Ginevra Weasley and sending a Patronus with a certain message.

"_I'll be in my living room awaiting you_."

He sat before the fire, lulled back to his calm state by the flames and waited. By the time the heat had coaxed his eyelids to close, a shifting in his wards denoted her arrival. She looked scruffy and just as tired as he was. She sat across from him and even took the cup of tea Grepa set out.

"Moody's gone and locked Hermione up in this Persephone persona. He's got the spell weaved into a code word that will, upon being said to her, restore all her memories and knowledge. He says that she has to capture Old Vee-mort's heart to make him say the word."

"What is the word?" Severus asked, ignoring the tea as he reached out for this tidbit of information. _Maybe this explains why she danced so wantonly with the King_, he pondered.

She laughed and gulped some of the tea. "Like that old fart would tell me. I covered him in Bat-Bogeys and threatened to shove his peg-leg up his arse, but he was stubborn. The word won't be said until he deems the time appropriate."

"How will she capture his heart? Not even Bellatrix in all her glory has done so."

"Moody said something along the lines of making her the one thing he wants. No fear, no Mark and the answer to obtaining eternal life. He said the one thing Vee-mort will desire is the thing he cannot have yet desperately wants. He wants eternal life and Moody has planted the idea that Persephone knows the real secret about obtaining it."

"Will she remember anything that she did as Persephone?"

The Weasley woman met his black eyes with her brown, which were so like Molly's and smiled.

"She'll remember _everything_."

* * *

Persephone woke in the morning with a crick in her neck and a sore ankle. She'd been sitting up against her door, listening for any more voices when she heard that woman's again. But it was only the vibration and the rumble, she could make out no words. It irked her that she couldn't place the voice and that Severus had denied she was there. Why was he hiding her? What was there to hide?

Uncto was the one to come to her room this morning and he pulled out a pale green blouse with slim sleeves, and a pair of loose cotton pants, with short flat brown booties to match. She crept down the hall to the nearest bathroom, where Grepa had already drawn a bath, then slid into the water and floated beneath its surface until her lungs screamed. As she resurfaced, she let her mind wander over everything she'd been told or seen or heard.

The only thing that stuck out to her was how real their kiss felt. If he was truly interested in another woman, would he still have the feeling behind such a powerful kiss? If she closed her eyes she could still feel the press of his warmth against her and the taste of earthy fire. It sent a jolt up her chest and she found herself wanting to giggle.

The silliness of such a thing hit her and she pulled herself from the bath water and into a towel. When she looked in the mirror, she saw the jagged edges of her burnt hair for the first time and realized how close she had been to death. With wrinkled and numb fingers she caressed the blackened ends and called Grepa.

"Miss needs me?" she asked in her sweet little voice and her ears flopped like a bunny's.

"Yes. Cut the burnt parts away evenly, Grepa. I don't want to see the black."

The house elf nodded with all seriousness and began her work. When she was done, Persephone's hair fell to the middle of her shoulder blades instead of the middle of her back. She liked how free her head felt.

Breakfast was a little more exciting. As she took her seat, Severus cleared his throat. She set her fork back down and gazed up at him to see what he would say.

"Persephone...I...I..." he hesitated and she swallowed, worried. "I've been told that you have been summoned...to the king's manor. Alone."

_Well, not what I was expecting_, she licked her lips and sat back into her seat. "What...I mean, why? Did he give you a reason?"

Severus shook his head and she looked away, catching a sharp glare for it. "Did you give him a reason to invite you back? So soon after the Ball, too?"

There was an accusation inside those words and she frowned. "Why would you think that? My heart was in my throat the entire night."

"That didn't stop you from acting like his Queen. What _did_ you say to each other when you danced?"

Persephone bit her lips angrily and stood. "Is this why I came to breakfast? To argue about this stupid moment? I told you I am yours, Severus."

He stood as well and took three strides, coming to stand before her. His obsidian eyes were endless tunnels that she could fall into were she not careful. Severus' hands gripped her shoulders and pulled her towards him gently.

"You are mine, Persephone? You love me?" he asked and she saw something in his eyes that she wasn't sure she liked.

"Yes, Severus. I love you, I am yours."

He closed the distance and her chest was pressed into his as his fingers dug into her hair and he kissed her. This time she couldn't escape if she wanted to and he didn't pull away. He held her there and moved her lips to his rhythm until they ran out of breath. When her chest was fit to bursting, from both lack of air and desire, he retreated. His lips were slightly pink and his eyes were glossy, his chest rising and falling heavily. He leaned forward and she almost thought he'd kiss her again, but he simply laid his lips over hers.

"Remember that when you're with him, my love." His lips brushed hers with every word and he stepped back. "Be there promptly at noon. Please don't be late."

Before she could say anything, he had Apparated away.

* * *

The body before him was still and more like a porcelain doll than a person. The skin had gone wax-like and bloodless, the once blue veins almost black. The hair seemed to still be alive though, curled up in ringlets about her temples and nape, the color of amber and the sheen of pearls. Her dress had warranted changing as she had been garbed in wine and little bits of food, both of which had fallen with her as she took the brunt of the spell. She was now clad in a burgundy sun dress, her arms bare and thin.

He remembered vaguely that her eyes had been pale grey, almost like a Malfoy's. They were cloudy and dead now behind her lids, staring at whatever lay beyond the veil of the weak. He wanted to kick her for the thoughts that were surfacing, but it didn't feel right. She had saved him as much as that Persephone had.

King Voldemort was no fool. He had known that if there had been no interference, he would have been struck by that spell. The truth of it was something he both didn't want to face and had to. The sooner he came to terms with the fact that he had become lax in his time as king, the sooner he could rectify his mistakes. So he set about upping security measures and his monthly check of every Lord's guard. He could not allow this to happen again.

Wormtail came up from behind him and he decided he would rid himself of this cretin for the day.

"Wormtail!" the sudden attention made the rat-like man jump and Voldemort chuckled to himself. "Go check on Lucius while Miss Damasca is here. See that he is doing his duty as quickly as he has led me to believe."

The man left to do his bidding before he could even close his mouth. It pleased and annoyed him.

The clock in the corner of his sitting room read a quarter till twelve and he sighed, levitating the dead girl onto a soft plush cushion that was as long as she was and left the room. The other servants were milling about, here or there, some with tasks, some without. The only reason he had taken them was for the convenient cover that he was some caring little idiot that loved children and saw to their bright futures. He was no Dumbledore though and when a little brat slipped in front of him, he kicked him back. The odd thing was, the child didn't cry. If anything, the young boy seemed to become more invested in his job of cleaning the floor tiles.

_It is like the orphanage reborn_, he thought and that made him hesitate in the foyer.

All the children were dressed in brighter colors than the tepid grey and blacks, but their faces made up for the liveliness of their clothes. Every face had the same bland lifelessness about it, as though each soul had burned and slid out of the bodies. He wanted to do something to rid himself of the déjà vu, but the wards shifted and he lifted his head to the path outside the front door. He could see it from this vantage, though the paned glass to either side of the thick door.

A blue and white clad Persephone was walking up the pebbled path with a steady gait, her hips swaying side to side in a natural feminine way. Bellatrix's hips would be like a ship in a stormy sea, fighting the waves with each step, but Persephone's were the waves, buffeting the ships in her grasp. The winter wind was still active and her slightly shortened hair blew sideways and across her face. She reached up to remove it and pull it behind her head in the direction the wind wished. Now it hung in little wild curls on her left shoulder, catching the sparingly seen sun and reflecting the beams of light in the same shade of amber as the dead girl's.

The similarity surprised him.

The little boy by the door, scrubbing at the tiles, kept glancing upwards every few seconds and only when Voldemort caught his gaze did the boy take off down one of the halls. Persephone was at the door now and her hand raised up to knock upon it, a thin fur glove covering her fingers. He let her knock, then flicked his wand and stood in the doorway watching her face.

It never ceased to amaze and rile him that she did not flinch or seem intimidated by his presence. She smiled up at him with those emerald eyes and he was confused by the urge to return the smile. Instead he lifted his hand for her to take and gently guided her inside.

"Welcome back, Miss Damasca. I trust you slept well after the horrible events of last night?"

Her smile fell and she shook her head. "I slept well enough, but I...I could have slept better."

He watched her, looking for a way into her facade, but she was like a solid wall. "Well, I dwelt on your thought of burying that poor girl and it seemed a proper course. And since it was your idea, I thought it only appropriate that you do the honors."

"Oh." she responded and he knew he had surprised her. It was like a shot of adrenaline._ So she can be surprised_.

"Yes, I've got her under stasis if you would follow me." She nodded demurely and let him lead her, her hips a noticeable movement by his thigh. The top of her chest would be level with his ribs if they stood together; Persephone was a petite little thing, tiny but curved enough to be beautiful.

"Are we laying her to rest on your property or somewhere else?"

"I would prefer she be laid to rest here. She had two young siblings that are still within my care." Those little brats had been mourning in their way so loudly in the silence that it had given him headaches during the hours that followed the Ball. He had had to banish them somewhere other than the rooms he was in or he would feel driven to kill them. It would probably be easier.

The room where the girl lay like a real-life version of sleeping beauty came up before them softly, lit by the bright noon sun in such a glorious way, everything was shrouded in a cloak of wonder. Deathly wonder.

Persephone disengaged from him as she saw the girl and her hands gently pressed against the dead girl's face, flinching but not pulling away from the frigid cold. He could still see her eyes and was baffled and disappointed to see the tears in her them. She leaned forward and whispered something to the body, a sad smile on her lips. It was as though they were dear friends and the child was only sleeping. Such a way with death...as though she were kin to it. _Perhaps_, he thought,_ she is_.

The familiarity this Persephone had with death made him think of the Greek myths and the ideas within his mind fell slightly into the realm of fantasy and children's stories._ Master of Death_, he said in his mind, watching as his guest lessened the girl's weight with magic and picked her up. Silence was master here, as was evident by the hush that fell over everything as though in fear that the utterance of a sound would shatter some delicate balance. Even the king fell prey to the bated quiet as he trailed along beside Miss Damasca, opening doors as he led her out and into a side part of his lawn, which overlooked a tiny pond with a willow tree beside it.

The loud silence about them was broken up by little patters of feet, but when he looked around, he saw no children. Persephone continued forward until she was right beneath the tree, where she waved her wand and an oval hole of six feet deep was carved into his landscape. Something within Voldemort told him to stay back, to linger on the fringes and allow this act to play out without his interference.

With the hole dug, his guest shifted her bundle down into it, placing her as though she simply rested in the winter sun, beneath heavy-hanging willow branches. It was a peaceful pose, nothing like the dead bodies that he had come to know.

As she lifted her wand to fill up the space and finish the ritual, his precious mudblood children came from nothing like wraiths or those dramatic paintings he had seen as a child of demons and Death as they swarmed the living like pale grinning maggots. They fell on their knees beside her and a few even pressed their greyed little fingers into her hands, her arms, her hair. They said things to her in their own wordless tongue with glances, caresses, and half-broken sobs. She made noises that sounded like little birds cooing, a soft lilting sound that reminded him of a Phoenix in lament.

Persephone opened her arms like a mother, a quiet plea that they come to her; and they did, marching like a graceless horde to invade her defenseless chest. The little boy that had been scrubbing the floor and his only remaining sister who was five years old took their silent invasion to her lap, curling up into her embrace like babies for a mother's unending love. The others leaned over her, beside her and before her, all crying and moaning and shifting back and forth in some mourning dance...as though they could call back the dead girl's spirit with the wildness of their sorrow.

Both the love and the sorrow were so pure in their sincerity that he could feel them in his own stoic heart.

And those children, even the teens, grieved for the fallen one. The sound of their weeping made him sick and he was struck with the urge to leave, but Persephone pulled the siblings into her more and kissed their heads. As she kissed the young girl's head he saw her eyes were red from crying. He felt again the urge to leave, this time with a deep sneer, but she began to whisper words that sounded like innocent breaths to her ghostly congregation and they all nodded eagerly in unison, their grief shoved back for some unknown joy.

Persephone said something more to them and they all stood, like marionettes to the puppeteers wrist, slipping silently away like shadows to the dawn. Alone now, her hands fell gently to her lap and she tilted her face to the sky, watching the circling clouds that swore snow but merely danced with the bright sun. Each time the sun shielded her from him, something within him held its breath until he saw her again.

Then, suddenly as they had evaporated, the mudbloods returned, fistfuls of dirty flowers in their grubby paws. He knew instinctively that some part of his garden had been ravaged. He wasn't vain enough to care though, as he had only had them work the lawn so he would not have to stare at them. They were a cover and convenient when he needed them, but maintaining them was a job in and of itself.

His mother of mudbloods had them pile the flowers in a semi-beautiful assortment over the body, like servants to a departing queen. When all the flowers had been laid about, Persephone laid the dirt atop the dead girl, seemingly finishing the ritual he had thought would only be a few moments. She was standing now, taller than all the children about her and she opened her arms once more. Again they charged her chest and she was embraced from all sides like some ship caught in the maw of a leviathan and all its limbs. She bent slightly and whispered in their ears, a rushed breath, a reverent sound.

His mudbloods nodded over and over, their brightened eyes upon her face and some semblance of life within their grey faces. She flicked her wand through her captors and a headstone appeared, the name_ Virginia_ etched in its surface. When she squeezed them and let them go, they faded off once more into their shadows, leaving Persephone alone to trek back inside.

"Are you finished with your charade?" he asked her as she stepped back within his home, she looked up at him surprised once more, a tear lingering on her eyelashes.

"That was no charade, my king." she told him, her voice still and strong. By what right did she presume to be so unfaltering?

"_Am_ I your king?" he asked her softly, slyly.

Without a blink, Persephone answered. "Of course you are. What gave you cause to think otherwise?"

It unsettled him that this woman could come in his space, not be daunted by his appearance and even save his life. More and more, he grew to hate this _Persephone_.

"But you don't fear me." It was a statement and a question.

"Fear is the cancer that suckles the host until there is no life left, love_ is_ the life."

He felt himself scoff at the words. "Love? You would speak to me of man's greatest weakness?"

"Weakness?" she asked, stepping nearer. "Have you never felt love?"

He made to answer, but she did not allow him to. The wisdom on her face and her hand upon his chest stopped the words from forming.

"Love is the reason we live. Love is our blood and our breath. And when we find love in another it is a gift you could never imagine. Love is the only thing in the world that can make you feel like nothing and like everything. Like the weakest being or superhuman. Breakable or invincible. Like you could live forever, like you could cheat death."

Something in her speech stirred the curiosity within him and he looked at her differently, closely. The atmosphere was heavy with possibilities, with secrets, with things he had always strove for.

"And could you?"

She laughed softly and shook her head, the moment was dissolving around him. "No. Not as yet. Dark hearts have taken love and twisted it from its purest form. There are lies in love now and too much falseness."

"What if you could find_ pure_ love again?"

She laughed again and it was a sweet sound, like the lilting of a bird. "Why would you want pure love, my king? It is a fickle thing if your heart does not know any love at all."

He bristled and frowned. "What makes you think I do not know love?"

"You may_ know_ love, but has your heart ever _felt_ it?" She pressed a hand over his heart and he felt anchored to her palm. Her emerald eyes that were so like his former annoyance, that Potter boy, gazed at him in some mixture of sorrow and pity; as though he had died beneath her hand, there in her fingers. "You've wounded yourself worse than death ever could."

The anchor was dragging him under, but he forced all his energy into his retreat and with an almost painful cutting feeling, he pulled her hand from his chest. He stepped back, crushing her hovering hand until she cried out then cast it aside. His flame-like crimson eyes bored into her understanding green and he muttered, "Leave."

His feet swiveled beneath him and he fled. He ran as far away from that Queen of Death as he could. When his library loomed before him with its gorgeous view of the lake in the distance, he came to a stop. King Voldemort struggled for breath, his lungs tight and weak in his chest, a searing pain over his heart in the shape of a petite feminine hand. As he tried to regain his composure, he took note of the emotion in his body. At first it appeared to be adrenaline or something similar but when his wards shifted to let Persephone pass, he realized it was fear.

* * *

**A/N:** I was attacked by a random Uncertainty Golem and got lost in Procrastination Forest for a day or so. Luckily, Wisecracking Harry with his Devil May Care attitude swung by on a very familiar bike and got me back on track. Very grateful for those that are still sticking with me. Please review! Tickle2Kill.


	19. Sleeping Beauty

~*~Sleeping Beauty~*~

Bellatrix had finally killed him, killed him like she killed Sirius. His last thought was of that tower and how he regretted not being able to explain to his friends what is they still had to do or how much he loved them for choosing him when the world had made it clear he was the losing team. He had been lost in some darkness beyond his own comprehension, half-aware and half-overwhelmed, unsure whether to be or to let go or to simply be consumed by the utter silence that had enveloped him. Being without glasses had frightened him at first, until he noticed that he could see. All his memories had played before his eyes like a movie and only when he was about to let them destroy him did the purgatory lighten and Dumbledore appeared.

There had been such surprise on the old man's face and he had been without words for a good while until he wrapped his mind around what had taken place. Then he had grown angry, scared and ultimately apologetic and had explained all that Harry had asked after. All the things Harry no longer wished to know.

This place was cold to him now, not like it was when he had first appeared here. He was clothed thanks to Dumbledore, but the old man had grown quiet while their conversation waned. He knew much more now than he ever had and parts of him didn't want to know any of it anymore. How many times had this man beside him lied to protect him? He could see Sirius' face behind his eyelids as he sighed. _What constituted as air here?_

"You must understand, my boy, you were meant to come to this much later. You were not supposed to fall with me." The old man said as he shifted, looking over with that pitiful guilt that Harry had become accustomed to when something had gone unforeseen. It hit him like a nail in the chest that Dumbledore wasn't sorry that Harry had died too, but that he had died too soon.

Anger filled him so thoroughly that he couldn't hear the flayed baby's crying over the rushing in his ears. "But I _was_ meant to fall." It wasn't a question, because there was no doubt.

"Harry, a part of you was not even you. Tom had unknowingly placed a piece of himself inside you. Only by destroying that could we destroy him."

"What about the horcruxes?"

"That is why you were not meant to fall yet. You had to destroy them so that when you fell, Tom would be mortal."

"And who was going to kill him, then? If I was dead and you were dead and Snape was on his side, who was going to end him?"

"I assumed you might have survived. As your mother's death saved you before, I believed your sacrifice, and the possibility of the fragment of Tom's soul acting as a shield, would spare you."

"_Assumed? Believed? Possibility?_ Even if I had died, you weren't certain I would come back! My friends, my Professors, everyone...they would just be left there with him?"

"I trusted you would be strong enough..."

"To deny death for the hundredth time? I'm not immortal like Voldemort. If it wasn't for dumb luck and a lot of friends, I would have died my first year."

"And that's why you were better than Tom. You didn't isolate yourself from love and you didn't have to intimidate anyone into standing by your side. You had all that he never had and I didn't want to be the one to take it from you. I went wrong with Tom. I didn't want to make the same mistake with you." For a moment there was quiet, even the thing beneath the benches was still.

"How long ago could this have ended?" Having asked, Harry realized he didn't want to know that either. He might be tempted to see if spirits could die again.

"I wanted a normal life for you. I wanted..."

"_You_ wanted. It's always about you. The world could fall to pieces so long as you got what you wanted." Harry found his feet and paced around the replica of King's Cross. He hadn't been able to stomach leaving the seat until that very moment, because floating aimlessly about this sham of something remembered was better than having to share breathing air with that man.

The baby underneath the benches wailed so loudly that Harry was able to shove back his fury and he stepped over to the thing. It was desperate and weak, curled up in all its pain. Staring at it, at its discolored eyes and its abnormal skin, Harry realized that for fifteen years of his life this thing had been within him. Dumbledore made to speak as he reached out for the poor thing, but Harry ignored him.

For all its hideousness, it was also freezing cold and Harry found himself cradling the baby to him as it bawled. Something inside him reached out like his hands had, but he withdrew from the urge to let it grasp its intended target. The baby in his arms stopped crying long enough to gaze at his chest and he looked up to Dumbledore.

"Was it always here or did it come when I did?"

"It came when you did. It followed you."

"Of course it did." Harry said, finding a seat further away from his mentor. "All it's known for the last fifteen years as a horcrux was me. Did you never think about the fact that it is actually a soul, even if it is just a fragment?"

His mentor sighed. "Pity was not going to win the war, Harry."

"But you pitied me. The poor orphan boy who lost his parents and his godfather and had a bunch of horrid abusers as relatives, you pitied him. For what? Because I could end the war that even you couldn't? Was I just a tool to you; an...an atom bomb to end your wars?"

"No, you were never a tool." Dumbledore stood, almost frantic, his hands worrying each other as though he was in fear. "I cared for you as I should have cared for Tom. It is my fault that so much has been allowed to happen, but I thought I could give you a good life...one without power and glory, without the temptation of the dark. I knew what was coming for you. I was the one who the prophecy was told to, of course I knew what lay ahead, but I am not omnipotent. I couldn't foresee all the variables. I tried my best, my boy, to shield you from the pain that was to come."

"But Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna...Ginny. What about them? They would have to bury me, after all the things we went through and all the times you let me keep them so close, they would have to stand over me and throw dirt over me. Did you pity them?"

"We all..." He paused, his voice clogged in his throat. "We all must endure the loss of that which we love; either in leaving or in being left. They would have been better off knowing you and loving you than never having met you at all."

"Is that what you told Snape when you had him swear to kill you?"

"Severus did not need me to explain the meaning of loss. He knew it well enough. I was compromised because of my own loss and was going to die...I did what I could to ensure you would succeed after I was gone."

"To ensure I would find and destroy the horcruxes and walk right in front of Voldemort so he could kill me, you mean?"

"Harry..."

"Whatever it is, whatever you think you can tell me to make this better...just don't."

"Please!" Dumbledore pleaded and Harry spun so quickly that his former mentor drew up short.

"_Don't_!" He could feel that bubble of emotion in his throat and the madness, the sorrow, the _disappointment_, was like acid on the back of his tongue. "You could have told me. I could have known and I could have prepared. I could have spared everyone if I had just known."

"You can't save everyone. I've learned that lesson the hard way."

"But Sirius," Harry felt the acid in his throat turn to stone and he collapsed. The flayed creature mewled and fidgeted. "I would never have gone to the Ministry and he wouldn't have died if I knew what it was Voldemort was looking for. Sirius didn't need to die."

"You couldn't know then because you couldn't block your mind. Tom would have seen it as well. You had to be kept in the dark."

"You could have taught me!"

"And I should have, but I foolishly believed you and Severus could mend a bridge neither of you really broke in the first place. I wanted so much for you both. Severus is probably stuck over there now. All my plans..." He buried his face in his hands.

"Sirius _died_ for your plans. Cedric and my parents; Arthur Weasley almost did! If I sat here and wrote them down, I would run out of paper! Or ink! How big is your graveyard?"

"Harry, I never wanted this." The blue eyes narrowed and grew worried all at once. "Put the baby down."

"Why? Is it bothering you? It finally shut up." and the broken thing had, it seemed it was sleeping.

"It's affecting you. This isn't you speaking, Harry."

"Really?! And why not exactly? Is it because I'm not believing every word you say or following every command you issue?" He felt liberated for some reason and he gazed at Dumbledore with scorn. "My parents, Sirius, Cedric...they didn't have to die. If I was supposed to be the one that could end it all, why didn't you just finish it? You could have been their secret keeper, you could have checked the trials more thoroughly, you could have stopped me from running to the Ministry, endangering my innocent friends and killing Sirius...if you had just spoken. Everything was a chess game to you, wasn't it?" Anger was simmering once more in his chest and he growled, "Everyone looked like pawns after a while, didn't they?"

Albus Dumbledore stood and swatted the baby out of Harry's hands so hard it scraped along the ground with a heartbreaking shriek. When it came to rest on the opposite side of the station, Harry gazed up at his mentor angrily.

"Feel better?"

The half-moon glasses would have hidden the surprise on the old man's face if something physical like that had been something a spirit could take with them. Alas, Harry saw all of it reflecting back to him through the wrinkles. Satisfaction oozed through his pores and he could smell it on the air.

"No wonder Voldemort hated you."

Dumbledore flinched back as though he had been struck across the face. There were tears in his eyes and he staggered back to the nearest seat.

"You don't mean that, Harry." His voice was broken into pieces and the look of sorrow and desperation on Dumbledore's face made something crumble and his anger fled.

"No...I don't. I'm sorry." The baby rolled to its side and Harry moved to lift it into a seat. He thought of a robe and when he saw one on a bench he wrapped the babe in it.

A sobbing voice floated along the empty space around him and he could tell the owner just out of familiarity. His anger, which was mild and retreating, ebbed to barely a breath on his nape. "Ginny?"

The sounds faded as he heard his name being called again and the smallest of twinges erupted in his stomach, right behind his navel, like the pull of a Portkey. Harry frowned into the feeling and let his feet follow it. Dumbledore was saying something to him, but he was set in his course. The path was leading him opposite the train tracks, to the doors on the other side of the station...and out.

There was joy in that thought and he found himself longing to see his friends again, his family. Ron's smile, Hermione's laugh, the way the twins finished each other's sentences. Bill's long hair that gave Molly hell, Charlie with his jacket made of scars, Arthur's proud grin, and Ginny. His newly gained knowledge of Dumbledore could not taint his ever increasing love for Ginny. He felt lightheaded and he drifted until his fingers pressed into the cold handle of the door.

The baby-soul behind him mewled and he turned to look at it. Harry could feel how it wanted to go with him and stay by him. It wanted his warmth and his life and his presence. As much as he hated to admit it, Harry didn't want to leave the thing to die here. He met its horrid eyes and swore to it silently.

_I won't abandon you_.

The handle turned with ease and he stepped out into the bright light.

* * *

His hearing must have always been the first thing to return, because he could discern Ginny's voice as she shook him.

"Harry? Can you hear me?"

He tried to speak, to move anything, but he remained as still as stone. Ginny pressed a kiss to his lips and he ached to return it. His arms and legs were heavy and unresponsive, like lead. His body was still alive, if a bit out of shape, and he knew just from a second back within it that he was back down to his scrawny cupboard physique. His face was clean and his mouth was dry. It was not an entirely horrid state to be in. He focused on his tongue and begged any deity that would listen to give him strength.

It started with a grunt, buried beneath mucus and unused vocal chords. Then it sharpened to a whistling groan, his mouth unwilling to let him form proper words and instead jumbling what he did manage to say into one long sound. And finally, as Ginny had begun to lean close, he felt himself speak.

"S..still alive." Every part of him was tired, but he was terrified of falling asleep. The darkness of his closed eyes and the black of the beyond that lay before that King's Cross station were much too alike for his taste. He wanted to open his eyes and he refocused his efforts.

Ginny had gasped and shot up to her feet. He could hear her assure him she would return and her footsteps retreated at a sprint. He desperately wanted to stop her. Where was everyone? Was everyone alright? He had to know. He tried to open his eyes, but they were heavier than his arms. He could hear nothing but his own heartbeat and breathing.

The room was too warm, he was beginning to sweat and the singing of a phoenix began from somewhere to his left. Harry gave himself a minute to relish in the sound, even if it was a diluted version. He wondered what it was coming from.

The thought of Fawkes made him remember that Dumbledore was still at that place. Could his old mentor see him down here, laying supine on this bed, weak and useless?

There was a loud bang as a door hit a wall and the shock helped him work his eyes open a sliver. A woman stood above him, her face a mask of fear. He didn't know her and he heard himself sigh.

"Who are you?"

"Be quiet!" The woman hissed, digging around in her pocket. She glanced back at the open door and her short blond hair flicked in the air. There was a light blue clip at her temple.

"Where's Ginny?" He asked, blinking slowly to clear his eyes a little more.

"I said, be quiet! Of all the times you could have woken, it had to be now. Wolves in the fields, witches in the court, and a war on the doorstep. Chaos comes and so do you, bleary-eyed and mumbling. I'll not have you ruining yet another thing!"

Harry coughed because he had tried to breathe in but his throat was dry as old parchment. The woman's cold hands were doing something with his lips and then she held a cup aloft so he could see it.

"This is water. You drink, you sleep and you let the world right itself. Yeah?" She tilted the cup and liquid fell into his mouth.

He gulped and she smiled, but on second swallow he noticed its rather unnatural taste. He couldn't raise his hand but he could close his mouth. Harry felt some of the liquid dribble down his chin to his neck, the woman angrily growled at him.

"Don't go getting ideas! Drink like a good boy and go back to sleep!"

He clenched his teeth and stared her down, but his eyes were not so easily kept open and his head was swimming. He could recognize the potion coursing through him now. Dizziness overcame him just as Ginny came back, Mad-Eye Moody on her tail.

"He said your name." The woman muttered, fussing over him. "But he's fading back out again."

Moody stepped over to him and prodded his side. Harry turned his head with the last of his strength and gave his all to say one last thing.

"Dreamless..." And the darkness washed over him like a cool tide, his body relaxing to sleep once more.

* * *

He wasn't sure what he expected, but King's Cross wasn't it. Harry woke on the floor as he had the first time and the baby-soul mewled from beneath yet another bench. He had no recollection of how it had moved. His anger was back, but for a different reason.

"Albus said you'd be back."

Harry turned mid-movement to see who had spoken. Looking much more robust and joyful than he had ever seen him, dressed in muggle jeans and a blue cotton t-shirt with The Ramones plastered on it, was none other than Sirius Black himself. There was a sort of boyish charm about him, centered on the lopsided smile he wore.

"Sirius?" It came out like a prayer, as though he was wishing for it instead of seeing it.

"Harry."

Never in all his life had he moved so fast. Harry shot across the space, enveloping his godfather in the tightest hug he could manage. He didn't want to let him go. He hadn't seen his parents but Sirius was close enough. The only real link he had ever had to his father, to his mother, to the life he could have had. Remus had been close, but he was sometimes reluctant to reminisce about those days before the First War had ripped them all apart. And besides, it was Sirius he had lost so unfairly and it was Sirius he had considered a second father. The uncle Vernon should have been.

"I'm sorry." He didn't know why he said it at first, but then he knew. His godfather must have known as well.

"Oh, I don't blame you for it, Harry. I would have died in Azkaban a thousand times over if it weren't for the stubbornness of a vengeful heart. I would have died that night if you hadn't of stopped those Dementors. I would have died on the run like the fugitive I was if it weren't for the tenacity of love. I was dead the moment I said no to James, I just fooled myself into believing I could play at being alive. Don't blame yourself for that."

Harry shook his head as he retreated, sitting near his godfather. "You were alive. We were going to live together, I was going to have a family."

"You have a family, Harry. You've got a mother and a father, five brothers, a sister. You've got Neville and you've got Ginny."

"But not you."

A look came over Sirius' face. "You don't need me."

"Of course I need you. I've always needed you."

"I needed you more than you needed me, I think. You were James, you were Lily, you were all the things I had done wrong and the one chance I had to fix it all. It wasn't just family for me, it was forgiveness. I wanted James and Lily to forgive me for failing them, for letting Peter fail them, for letting Peter get away. I thought I could earn that from you since they were too dead to give it to me." He hung his head. "You didn't need me, because I wasn't who I used to be. I wasn't who you deserved."

"You don't need me to forgive you, Sirius. My parents trusted the wrong man...but that man wasn't you."

"All those years in Azkaban, rotting away for a false crime, I had nothing but memories and regrets. I had told James I would rather die than betray him but I couldn't be their secret keeper. It took fourteen years for me to put my money where my mouth is. I wasn't your secret keeper, but I would have rather died than betray you. So I did die. But that is not what matters. In the end, I don't matter."

"Of course you do!" Harry hollered, unable to believe what he was hearing.

"No. What matters is that you wake up. Wake up and prepare. Wake up and train. Wake up and know that only you can defeat Voldemort. Only you can end the tyranny and the bloodshed and the persecution of man, magical or not, good or evil, young or old. Wake up, Harry. You've got to wake up!"

The baby cried and he turned to it.

"I can't leave it." He whispered, reaching out.

"It's already dead, Harry. The ones you need to worry about are still very much alive."

"But I won't abandon it."

"There are four more just like it waiting for you when you wake up. Don't abandon them. Wake up. Wake up! Wake..."

Harry closed his eyes to Sirius and woke up.

* * *

**A/N**: *bows head in shame* I am so very, very, very sorry that this is so late! I have a reason(excuse)! So I encountered a major problem with this chapter when I had a read-through of it. In its conception it was meant to be its own chapter, as it is now, but during the actual writing, it became just a scene and rather loudly proclaiming itself as a Dumbledore bashing session. Which is not right in the slightest. I wanted this story to be very nonpartial towards who is favored and who isn't. If you end up hating a character, I didn't want that conclusion to be tampered with by my opinion. I want each person to be as evil or as good as they are in the books and portrayed with their side so as not to brand them as the villain merely to have a villain. So I had to do a lot of research to give everyone their voice. People are people after all and humans make mistakes. I hope I succeeded in my quest, since I kept getting distracted by Thorin and Co and the party cake of joy that is the good side of fandoms on Tumblr. Please review! Tickle2Kill.


	20. High Hopes

~*~High Hopes~*~

Ginny was pulling an all-nighter at Mungo's, compliments of both her time out with Moody and punishment for Apparating away with the Slayer himself. Her mum had given her the proper reprimanding, promptly uninviting her to every upcoming celebration, but Ron had clapped her on the back with a grin.

Her recklessness had been worth a little camaraderie, but the aftermath of her revelations had darkened the smiles. Neither Ron, Bill nor the twins had taken the knowledge well. Only the threat of permanent suspension by Moody kept them from doing anything violent...though she wouldn't blame them if they went ahead anyway. There was quite a few things she still wanted to do to the old Auror.

It seemed really odd to her that she felt slightly less murderous towards the Slayer. Part of her truly hated the man, after all she couldn't forgive what he had done, but his actions toward Hermione had tainted her hatred. He had seemed so protective, so worried for her.

Back when they were still at Hogwarts; staying up in the common room to have girly chats in front of the roaring fire after the boys had gone to bed, Hermione had always whispered in her ear that Snape wasn't the bad guy. She had allowed that he was snarky, cold and downright mean, but she was convinced part of it was an act and the other part was him being misunderstood. During those sleepover confessionals, Ginny had disagreed vehemently...but now, she wasn't sure.

Her confliction followed her to work and she did everything in that distracted mechanical way that people adopt when they're contemplating something difficult. As she was checking rooms to see if anyone needed anything, Gloria hurried up to her with a smile.

"Hey, Gin, Remus asked for you down with the wolves."

Nodding and squeezing the girl's arm, Ginny took off down the hall.

Cesare Palladino was the definitive alpha of the werewolves that had come to the refuge the day before Hermione had left. Ginny knew that Hermione wasn't aware anyone had come, she had been too busy, and now all she knew was the Slayer's manor. Hermione would have loved to spend time with the newcomers. Cesare's younger brother, Gabriele, had taken up the mantle of second-in-command, even at the age of twelve. Ginny had been tasked with watching over them and keeping the peace as their big multi-roomed building was being constructed.

Their temporary home was in Mungo's, in rooms that could be magically warded to keep them in. Everyone's fear was that the wolves would get free and in this enclosed space they would incite a massacre, but Ginny knew different. Bill hadn't left a single thing to chance, especially since he knew by experience how dangerous wolves could be. He still ate his steaks almost completely raw after Greyback's scarring swipe.

Cesare was tall and quiet, with deep whiskey-colored almond eyes, short, curly black hair and full lips. What he didn't say with words he said with his physique, which was a testament for why he was Alpha. Long, lanky, but covered in lithe muscles, he could spring on his prey in a blink and he had reflexes to do just that. When he had arrived, just like with the rest of his pack, he had had injuries. It seems as they had fled Fenrir's pack, they had sustained injuries from minor to critical; bites, scratches, cuts and bruises, even broken bones. But the worst were the curses. Cesare had been the worst off, and most of the others told Ginny it was because he lingered behind, helping everyone to get clear of the danger.

Remus had told them at the meeting before that Greyback would be on this pack if they didn't take them in and, in the space of four days, he had been proved right. Fenrir Greyback and his makeshift pack of thirteen had fallen upon the unprepared and peaceful pack. Cesare's best scout and second-in-command had been killed, but not before he got a Patronus to Remus and the Order. They had managed to scrounge up enough numbers to go fight and relieve the ravaged pack.

Cesare had killed who he could, but got caught in a fight with Fenrir when the bigger wolf had attacked Gabriele. To hear the young boy tell it, Cesare had stood like a guardian angel against the devil and withstood every curse until all his pack had been Apparated to safety. Ginny, herself, didn't believe in that type of stuff, but the sacrifices Cesare had made fit the fantastical image.

Because of his selfless nature and his power, he had become their leader. He and his brother had come from a poor family and the affliction of being a werewolf had caused issues with their ability to learn magic. The majority of his wounds had been magically inflicted, dark curses that left his olive skin marred with black vines. The staff at Mungo's had been attempting to cure him, but some issue with the wolf made it difficult. Remus had been enlisted to help with that.

So far it seemed the curse mingled with the wolf as its host, and separating the magic from the wolf proved near impossible. Ginny held out hope that the problem could be resolved.

Remus was chatting with the only pregnant woman in the pack about her unborn child. The other handful of women were clustered around listening. They were attempting to make arrangements for her and the upcoming birth. Remus grinned at her and pointed to where Cesare was helping an older man with his bandages.

Obviously, this was where she was needed. Stepping up to the pair, she donned her best nurse-smile.

Before she could speak, Cesare sniffed the air softly and grinned. "Ginevra! Good of you to come."

The old man grinned as well, shuffling off as she nodded to him.

"You can call me Ginny, you know."

"And ruin such a beautiful name?" He pressed a hand over his heart. "No, no."

She smiled coquettishly at his grin and parts of her rebelled. Harry was three floors up in a coma...she had to wait for him. Steeling herself against the charm that was Cesare, Ginny gazed around.

"What did you need?"

"Ah,_ mi dispiace_," his face scrunched and he shook his head. "Gabriele has gotten himself caught up in the Warthogs spell class and was afflicted. He ran here instead of to the_ dottore_ in the school. I do not recognize the spell that was used," he paused, embarrassed and scratched the back of his head. "I did not finish school in_ Italia_ and Gabriele was too young to attend."

She nodded to spare his feelings and touched his elbow. "Where is Gabriele?"

"He is this way." Cesare led her back through the cots and over to where the curly-headed boy was swinging his feet back and forth. He looked more like Cesare's son than his brother and she wondered if that were really the case. She couldn't think of a reason for him to say otherwise, it wasn't as though they would condemn him for having a son. The boy had blue eyes that rivaled Ron's and when he saw her he perked up.

"Shin-Shin-Shinebra!" He tried to say her name but he couldn't move his lips properly. His front teeth thudded against his breastbone and there were whiskers on his face. His ears hung down by his collarbone and his skin had turned grey, making a stark contrast to his bright pink nose. Ginny looked on in amazement at the different spells that would have been used to garner this effect.

Something about it felt off and she stared at him for another moment. "Cesare, has he had any problems with the children at the school?"

"Er...not that I have seen. Gabriele would never pick a fight with others, he is a good boy."

The boy in question scooted to the edge of his cot and bounced over to her. It appeared his feet were glued together at the heel.

"I gosh to wafe my vand!" he was excited and she felt infected by it immediately. Kneeling before him, she went about fixing this mess. She would have to speak to Minerva tomorrow about this incident. It seemed Gabriele wasn't even bothered by the obvious bullying he had experienced. Ginny was automatically in defense mode for his sake, she had known what it was like to be different, though her recollections of it were more because of the diary than anything else.

The boy had had to take a potion to make the whiskers go away and his teeth were straighter but dinner had come just a beat after and Gabriele had gotten drowsy with his full belly. She carried him back to his cot while Cesare trailed behind, smiling.

As she covered Gabriele in his blue and bronze coverlet, Cesare sighed. "What?" she asked.

"You grow more beautiful everyday, Ginevra. My pack has seen too much death and cruelty since it was formed. But now all will be different." He came forward so fast, she retreated, but his hand reached for hers and he kissed it softly. "I am forever in your debt, bella."

His amber eyes bored into her brown ones with such intensity it caused a ruckus in her chest and she was struck breathless. Ginny nodded to him and found the quickest way out of the room without appearing to be fleeing. The small part of her skin that his lips had touched was burning from his heat.

The back of her hand fiercely tingled no matter how hard she rubbed it.

As she clocked out and was on her way home, she realized her feet had led her to Harry's room. The savior was laying still, breathing, looking as he always had and Cesare's face floated upwards with all his warmth and life. She was standing beside Harry's bed, looking down, tears in her eyes and she grew angry at herself.

"Damn it, Harry!" she whispered fiercely. "Wake up so I don't have to feel this way. Hermione's with the Slayer, the king is ruling the world and I'm attracted to someone else. Everything went wrong when you fell. Come make it all better! You promised me you wouldn't die!" She broke down from the weight of everything and pressed her head into his hand as she sunk into the only seat available.

As she was weeping, her throat tight and dry, she heard a noise that sounded like a mumble. But it wasn't. Harry had said her name.

"Harry? Can you hear me?" She kissed him, but he hadn't moved a muscle. She could see his eyes rolling around, but they hadn't opened. Ginny's hand went to his head, his neck, his hands; she touched every part of him she could. His neck was working, as though he were remembering how to swallow...or how to speak!

She leaned forward, hovering above his mouth with her ear, straining to hear anything he might manage to say. There had to be more than just King's Cross!

"S...still alive." It came out hoarse and almost painfully. She shot up as quick as she could. He spoke. He really spoke. Harry was still bloody alive!

"I'm going to go get help!" Ginny darted out of the room and down the hall, screaming as loud as she was allowed in one breath. "Sam! Sam! Sam!"

Gloria peeked out of one of the rooms, she thought it might be Dean Thomas', and frowned. "Everything alright?"

"He spoke, Gloria! He's awake!"

"Who's awake?" Samantha Rivers came up out of the blue, her bright hazel eyes glowing with worry. She had a blue clip in her hair today.

"Harry." Ginny whispered it like a prayer and perhaps it was. She was begging the powers at be to let him keep on living.

"Oh?" Samantha passed right by her at a sprint, running towards Harry's room. She turned her head to look over her shoulder at Ginny. "Fetch Moody. Hurry!"

Ginny spun, hurrying back to get the rugged Auror. She regularly ran down_ Ariana Road_ just to keep herself in shape like they had on the grounds of Hogwarts during Umbridge's reign of terror. After all, it only took a moment for her guard to be down and her life to be compromised. Four times a week, they had three hours off of whatever they had been employed to do for the refuge to train. Hermione had been the leader of those meetings, just how she had led them all during Dumbledore's Army, and they had learned a million new spells and defenses. Hermione was the most proficient, but all the wizards and witches liked to joke that if all else failed, their most famous Muggleborn would teach the Death Eaters what it felt like to get their asses kicked with an actual foot. She had broken Moody's nose in a duel, simply because he goaded her with insults to break her concentration. When he snarled that her parents were grateful she had left, she had launched across the ring and punched him with all her weight behind it. The crack had been audible.

Hermione also oversaw the supply runs almost weekly. Neville had had to drag her to her bed in the small one room house she occupied on the northern side of the refuge because she was too stubborn to realize her hair had gotten tangled beyond repair and her hygiene needed a major reset. Instead of schoolwork and marks, Hermione had diverted all her attention to the safety, well-being and self-defense capabilities of the entire refuge. She had reduced herself, body and soul, to nothing more than a well-oiled machine that ran on the smallest amount of sleep, the tiniest bit of food, and the least amount of backup.

Sometimes, Ginny wasn't sure if it was herself or Hermione that took Harry's coma the worst.

Moody was just leaving the bakery with a bagel in hand when Ginny spotted him.

"Oi! Bastard!" She rushed him, but he caught her hand long before she'd had the chance to connect to his forearm. Somehow, he had shifted his bagel to the satchel on his hip and jabbed his wand into her throat in the same movement. She surrendered immediately.

"I don't appreciate the slander. If I called you bitch to the highest reaches, you would say I was cruel. Self-righteousness, Miss Weasley, is a rebounded spell." He stowed his wand away and took a bite of his bagel so quickly that she was baffled as to how he had moved so fast. Maybe he just used wandless magic to do mundane things so he never lost his edge. She made a mental note to add that to the list of training exercises.

"It's Harry. He's woken up and he spoke to me."

"What did he say?"

"Still alive."

"Cheeky boy." Moody pulled her around to face the way she had come with a gentle hand and they headed back to Harry's room at a jog. The leg must have been acting up again because Moody's face was slightly red and he had that small tick right above his right eyebrow that denoted pain. She had come to learn that some people refused to admit they were hurting until it caused irreparable damage. Moody had been the easiest one to catch in the act because if she watched close enough, his face and especially his hands gave away faint ticks. He had yet to admit that she was right.

"He said your name." Samantha muttered, checking Harry's pulse as they entered. Ginny stepped closer, she expected his eyes to be wide open or at least for him to be blinking, but his eyes were falling shut once more. "But he's fading out again."

_That's not possible!_, she screamed in her head, _He was right here. I can see his green eyes. Just like the ones Lavender gave Hermione. Please, no!_

She had been so focused on Harry she hadn't seen Moody poke him until Harry turned his head.

"Dreamless..." She felt him leave her again more than she saw it. Her eyes were full up with tears. That split second feeling, just as he relaxed, was just like when Percy had fallen in that hallway and no one could stop the blood. Percy had stepped in front of the curse Fred had been in line to take and had paid with his life. She had felt him leave her. Now she felt Harry leaving her. Moody was the only thing that kept her from leaping to his side.

"He's stable." Samantha's serious voice broke through the memories and Ginny sniffed back her tears. "He's just sleeping now."

Harry was awake, or at least no longer comatose. Ginny sagged with relief against Moody's chest and he allowed her to cry there, because as hard as he was, he had become their surrogate father when their own was either dead or not present. All the members of Dumbledore's Army looked to him now without fear of his face or his eye or his leg, because he had saved them just as Harry and Dumbledore used to. Moody led her to the only seat in the room which Samantha had moved to the corner and gave her half his bagel. She thanked him with a watery smile.

Her faux-Fawkes sang a very sweet song and her tears dried up on her cheeks.

* * *

Rodolphus Lestrange had been resting his head on the couch in his study, the Floo disabled and the room warded beyond any man's measure. Even in his own house he had to make sure his security was strong. He had twenty men that were his personal guard when he had need of them. Ten about his house on the grounds and the other ten placed in certain spots about the inside of the house. He didn't trust any of them and felt vulnerable in the house without multiple protections.

That was probably the reason he perked up so suddenly to a shifting in the manor's wards. He hadn't been expecting anyone for another hour or so. When he stared at the clock he realized that it was closer to two hours. Could Bella be back already? But it hadn't felt like Bella. He was drawn a little thin with all the work he had been up to lately and his mind wasn't working as quick as it should. Hoisting himself up off the couch, Rodolphus hurried out of his study.

He found the intruder on his stairs, slinking in the shadows of the night outside the range of the chandelier and the moon's sliver of weak light. The lunar rock was nearly gone. Throwing on his usual face and casting aside his fatigue, Rodolphus sprung.

"Loitering about my house in the middle of the night is _truly_ moronic." his smooth voice said, as he pointed his wand under the chin of the intruder.

"And leaving your wards tweaked so they recognize me is_ equally_ moronic." returned the other man's voice. He laughed and lowered his wand. Rodolphus' cerulean eyes became visible in the slanted chandelier light and thin lips curled in a smirk.

"Be glad I was expecting you." Rodolphus covered, stepping up the stairs of his foyer and past Yaxley, aiming for his lounge across the hall. "Bella's gone to ground until the King wishes to see her. She's planning to bring him something for his birthday...the fool." he pressed on, "According to Wormtail, our precious sovereign invited Miss Damasca over for a burial."

"Hers?" Yaxley asked, straightening his coat as he marched after his host.

"Oh, no...no." It surprised him that he was actually worried that could have happened. "That poor mudblood that took the curse for him. Seems that woman swayed him to bury her...on his property no less." Rodolphus pulled out a bottle of Firewhisky and poured a cup, then shut the liquor cabinet.

"His property? A worthless mudblood on his property?"

"Women make us do wondrous things for their affection. It appears our king is smitten already...though I wouldn't put too much faith in it lasting long. She's got a gentle heart."

"Do you know Damasca well, Dolph?"

"No more than a glance, but whole lives can be told in a glance and I think I know hers. Off-topic, though, Lucius was found to be lacking. Wormtail found out our dearest cherub was barred from meeting with Minister Bouduin and has been more-or-less bumming on the streets of Paris in an attempt to appear busy. Got himself about twelve different whores on the way."

"How did you find out all this information? Wormtail couldn't have just told you?" The man found a seat as his host took his own.

"Wormtail was difficult, but not impossible to break. Of course, the King will never hear of this because Wormtail won't remember. That little wastrel can barely keep his piss in, much less a gold mine of information. He was repeating the most important things like a mantra so loud I didn't even need to peek inside his mind. He should be dealt with soon."

"Sounds like you plan on killing him. Wouldn't our king be a little peeved that you took a mantle he didn't give you and murdered his prized groveller?" Yaxley pulled a flask from his waistcoat and swigged it.

"Why should I tiptoe around that waste of life that is Peter Pettigrew? Our sovereign is a snake, the purest of us all, yet he keeps rats and traitors about him like some cloak of protection. Is he in fear?" Rodolphus granted Yaxley a deep searching stare.

"He fears nothing."

"Nothing but death." he was restless and he stood to pace. "But he_ is_ death. Our king fears nothing but himself and yet he holds those unworthy cretins as advisers and shields."

Narrowing his eyes, Rodolphus downed his drink and vanished his cup. "Our king was once great, Yaxley. Remember when we used to tremble before him? Don't you remember what he was like before the vanquishing? Don't you remember the _power_?" There was a reverence in his voice and he sighed. "He was Salazar come again, he was all purebloods had dreamed for since the day mudbloods were born. No man alive could thwart him. He was unstoppable. Even that old fool Dumbledore did not dare challenge him outright, the man who had defeated _Gellert Grindlewald_. This kingdom has expanded his power, but he has weakened...so much. Using mute children for political cover, catering to the whims of others, elevating_ Severus Snape_ to his right hand...this is not the King we stood for.

"When I was imprisoned, I was still full up with the truths he had told us, the images of a utopia beyond all imagination, where he would lead us into the darkness and out again, reborn with our true power. He promised us more than repetition and halfblood leaders. He promised us riches and status. He promised us superiority beyond our wildest fantasies. He promised us cleansing...and I've yet to see it. Bella and I have always been kept together by one thing and that was our devotion to our sovereign. But now I think it is time to save him from himself."

"You speak treason." Yaxley muttered, gulping from his flask.

"Is it treason to save your king?" Rodolphus stepped around his chair and gazed into his companion's eyes. "I want my king back, I want my_ Lord_ back...I want what he promised us. And there are a few people who are in the way of that."

In the tired eyes before him, Rodolphus saw a seed planted and a plan was formed.

* * *

Persephone woke that morning with the most peaceful determination that she had had in quite awhile. She took her time dressing, languishing in the silence of the house. Severus had gone to Hogwarts once more to do his duties as Headmaster, but she had other plans.

Persephone was sure at some point she wanted to go out and get a real job, make her own way in a society that had always believed in housewives and breadwinners, but she couldn't see that happening now. The king's court and those puzzle pieces were more important. She didn't want to think of why they were, it only made her head hurt more than her usual reminisces. The walk down the hall to the stairs lasted no longer than a few seconds and she was descending them, turning right and away from the soft fire and comfort to the kitchen down this lower hall.

Her plans included many things, one being a proper dinner, where both of them could sit closely and speak and touch. She knew instinctively that she must approach what she was proposing with a little charm and kindness. A Christmas party at Severus' manor seemed like one of those things that he would abhor, but she needed this. Already she could feel the tendrils of her curious appearance fading away. She had to make another splash, and she had to gather certain Lords together. Those damned puzzle pieces had to be found and the Lords of the King's world would know exactly where they are located. What better way to keep herself current than to throw a party and invite all the key players of the Court?

She wandered around the kitchen, looking for Grepa, stumped as how to find her when the little elf appeared before her.

"Mistress could have called." she said sweetly in a motherly chastisement, it was so familiar her head hurt.

"Oh, I...I must have forgotten." Shoving away that slight embarrassment, Persephone cleared her throat. "I want to have a special dinner with Severus tonight. Can you make something to my exact instructions?"

The elf looked affronted, but raised one ear and let Persephone tell her the entire dinner setup. Smiling far too widely, Grepa nodded hurriedly and vanished before another word could be said. Thinking herself free of that task, Persephone hurried off to her room to prepare.

Her bathroom, oddly, was in a modern muggle style, with straight lines and squares, sleek and sparse. The bath itself was built beneath a curtained window, its white marble gleaming in the midday winter sun. Swirled amongst the white was lines of black and grey, mirrored in other places about the room. The towels on the wall were blue and black, the faucets were shining silver and the floor tiles were the same swirling white marble. The grout in between the tiles was black and seemed to bleed off the black swirls in the walls.

Persephone stepped into the bathroom in a jittery excitement, shedding her clothes as she walked to the bathtub. It was cool to the touch but she turned the three faucets on and let the hot water eat the cold. As the steady splash of water created a symphony in the room, she leaned upwards to the window and pulled back the curtain. Now she wouldn't need the light from the candles. The landscape stretched out before her like a finished canvas, still wet with paint. Trees and shrubs and neatly cut grass all dead in the winter cruelty. The king's manor had been so different. It was as though he had created a separate world inside his wards and the frigid winter weather could not destroy his peaceful environment. Thinking about the king made her sad and confused, considering how they had parted ways. She could still see the fear on his face as he cast her hand aside.

Abruptly the water stopped and she smiled against the thought of the king, crawling into the sudsy fluid, immersing herself in the heat.

Severus was going to come around tonight. She pressed her hand over her heart and gasped at the pain in her fingers. The king's grasp had been slightly too tight before he had left her standing there and now her fingers were bruised. Persephone did not have access to Severus' lab and asking him seemed wrong though she couldn't explain why. She had stopped the swelling from getting too bad with her wand, but she needed a potion to cure it completely.

Maybe she could ask before dinner...it would be an easy way to start the night, and she might even be allowed to see his lab.

* * *

Yaxley had dropped by Hogwarts on what he told Severus was a 'royal task'. Of course, Severus did not believe that for the second it took to say it and while the man spoke to his teachers under the pretense of this 'task', Severus had secretly been watching his every move. When Alecto and Yaxley went to the Professors' lounge to continue a conversation about some 'royal' business, the Headmaster rushed back to his office.

He had made a point in the first few months of the King's reign to know everything about his school and he had bewitched every gargoyle and statue to record important conversations. If one mentioned keywords, such as 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' or 'You-Know-Who' and the like, the statue would record whatever was being said and keep it like a muggle phone message. A small roundish golden disk acted as the speaker and the voices would come out of the base into the air about him. He used this now to listen in on Yaxley's conversation.

"...given up for us." the Ministry man said, seemingly stepping further away from the statue.

"It is not a matter of what he's done, Yax. Have you heard yourself? You sound like a fanatic." Something in her voice was humorous as she muttered the last word, but Severus couldn't take anything being said as a joke.

"Perhaps I am. But I agree with Dolph. Something needs to be done about this. Have you never had doubts about Snape?" _And now we come to the meat of the matter_, he thought.

"Doubts?" Alecto squeaked, shifting closer to Yaxley. "Why would I have doubts?"

"He's half-blood, a traitor and he was given a seat_ beside_ the king, over all of us! Did we all forget that he was once Dumbledore's little page boy _and_ in love with a mudblood?"

"Yax, stop. Think about what you're saying. If the king has chosen him as his second I do not see the problem. Are we not good servants when he accept his choices?" Severus had never heard Alecto so eloquent and he wondered if she played at being the fool for her own little schemes. It would explain quite a lot.

"When those choices do not demean and wound him. He is weakened by the things surrounding him, now that he has the whole of wizarding England and Scotland. He was meant to rule the world...but he can barely convince piss-poor officials that he is worth their fealty. If we can cleanse the disease that taints him, we can see his dream come to be. Are you willing to help?"

Alecto and Yaxley were moving out of range and Severus tried to access the closest statue to continue to eavesdrop, but by the time he caught up with them, they were chatting about Ministry dribble.

His shoulders weighted down by the news he had received, Severus went to his fireplace and distractedly cast a handful of powder in. As he was mulling over what he could possibly do to learn more about what Rodolphus and Yaxley were planning, he whirled in dizzying circles to his home.

Maybe if he hadn't been visited by such interesting news, he would have noticed the ambiance of his home was far more heavy than usual, but all he noticed was that dinner had been prepared and set out on the table. _Grepa has perfect timing_, he praised silently, shaking loose his ash-spotted cloak and hanging it on the nearest hook. His cuffs were too tight for thinking and he loosed them, moving to the buttons at his neck when he looked down at his hands. Not seeing Persephone about, he kicked off his boots and rolled his socks together in a ball, setting them together by his cloak as he shed his outer robe.

Clad now in only his white button-down shirt and pressed black slacks, Severus ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. He had known nothing good would come of being selected as the king's highest and now he saw firsthand that his suspicions had been correct.

The smell of roast and vegetables drew him away from his stressful mind and he dragged himself toward the dining room. He was so focused on the wonderfully decorated table, with flowers in short cylindrical vases, candles that gave off the scent of vanilla, and two steaming plates of food; that he missed the vision on the other side of the table, waiting for his reaction. A small throat clearing made him glance up and his breath caught in his chest.

Dressed in a soft golden dress with a sweetheart neckline that clung to her waist before flaring around her knees, Persephone was staring at him anxiously with her gem-like green eyes, her lips pulled inward in a shy smile. Her hair was down around her head in delicate waves and shimmered in the candlelight, accentuating her cheeks and chin. She wore small golden earrings and a single thin golden chain. The chain drew his eyes downward in a very suggestive way and he had to pull up short at the sight. As he stared back at the delectable woman before him, he realized he couldn't recall what he had been thinking so hard about.

"Are you hungry, Severus?" she asked him from her sweet pink lips and he found himself within the dining room completely.

"Starved." he replied and he wasn't entirely sure he was talking about the roast.

* * *

**A/N: **Had to revise this chapter as well, though the new things are making it so much easier for me to see what I did wrong with the first draft. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! (P.S. I think I loosely based Cesare off of Ezio in the AC games, but I was watching The Borgias at the same time when I initially wrote this, so I fell in love with the name Cesare all over again.) The next one should have much more Severus and Hermione, a dash of Voldemort and a mission for Rodolphus that will get him a little too close to the ruse of Persephone Damasca. Oh, and Severus finally finds out what the hell those puzzle pieces are, but his Patronus gets a little...wonky? Please review! All my love, Tickle2Kill.


	21. Sweet Avarice

~*~Sweet Avarice~*~

The dinner was set out and he realized belatedly that he was staring. To rid himself of the ability to, Severus found the table suddenly more interesting. Persephone hesitated, a smile locked on her face and he noticed her right hand was cradled to her waist. He wondered why.

"What's the...occasion?" Severus inquired. After seeing that he was barefoot, Persephone had vanished her shoes back to her room with a smile. Her petite little feet were a wild contrast with the deep mahogany wood of the floor.

"I thought we should have a nice dinner for once..." Persephone muttered and she collected herself as she gestured outward. "Won't you join me?"

Even with his misgivings, he had skipped lunch to sort out the two miscreant second-years who had ravaged the library with a spell they had found and he was truly starved. He nodded politely taking his cues from her, took his seat and picked up his fork as she did.

"Did you...have you been planning this all day?" he asked her, groaning silently at the flavor of the roast on his tongue; it was divine.

With a cute blush, she nodded and sipped her wine. He found himself mimicking her, the taste lingering on his tongue. "It came to me this morning."

Severus started casting about in his head for something to say but Persephone did it for him. "How was work?"

It was a domestic question and one he would have expected out of a wife...which led his mind down the wrong paths and he focused on the way his vegetables clung to his fork. Now that she had brought it up he remembered what Yaxley had said and his uncertainty about whether or not Alecto had decided to join up with him and Rodolphus Lestrange. But he could hardly tell her about that without a lot of explaining and he knew he would end up touching on something that she wouldn't remember and it would cause her a headache.

His thoughts came to a halt quite suddenly and Persephone frowned at him. Realizing his own silence, Severus smiled at her. "Nothing too bad, since it is still the holidays. By the first week of January we will have much more to speak about."

Persephone granted him a laugh and she began to eat again. "Are we celebrating Christmas this year?"

He hadn't celebrated anything at all for the past four years and hadn't even thought of the holiday. '_Should I get her something? Will she want to get _me _something?_' The eyes gazing back at him were like a trap and he lost his train of thought again. When he remembered something about a floating mistletoe one year at Hogwarts, he caught back up with himself. There was too much going on at once and he needed a silent moment to process it all.

"Did you wish to?"

A sad look came over her face and she looked down. "Well, I don't really have a family to invite but I suppose you could invite some of your friends." Persephone suggested, gulping a mouthful of wine.

Severus had never invited anyone to his home, whether it be Spinner's End or here. People had been foisted upon him, but he hadn't ever asked them to come. The thought of people in his home disgusted him though he had more people in the past week than he had had over four years. Would Narcissa want to come and mingle with Persephone again? Draco hadn't been sent over to him yet and he supposed it was because his mother couldn't corner him into it. Perhaps he could invite the Malfoys over...but Severus would have to limit the list to that.

When he presented this to Persephone, she shook her head. "Narcissa told me about Astoria Greengrass...and the trouble she was having with Draco. Maybe we can have the Greengrasses over as well?"

_Is she reading my mind?_, he thought, watching her closely, but all he gathered was that she licked her lips after every bite and the sight of juice on her tongue made it hard for him to breathe.

"If we invite the Greengrasses, word will get out and somehow we'll have far more guests than is needed at Christmas...besides, I think Draco would feel cornered if it was just us, his mother and the Greengrasses."

Persephone bit her lip as she thought. "Then maybe we should invite more people. I've never thrown a Christmas party."

Why did he feel like giving in to that sad look? Before he could figure that out, his lips moved. "If you really want to."

The utter joy that crossed Persephone's face was worth the thought of a crowded sitting room. He didn't have the king's ballroom but his sitting room would be big enough for a nice get-together. Not that he wanted one, but as he laid down his fork he realized that Persephone was standing beside him. The warmth coming off of her skin from the candle's flame that she had absorbed soaked into him and he once again forgot what it was he was meaning to say.

She bent, slowly, as though she was letting him decide whether or not to flee, and pressed her soft lips against his own. Oh, what he wouldn't give to remain here forever. Just like all the times before, her kiss was intoxicating and he felt himself shiver from the taste of wine on her tongue. Dinner lay forgotten as he reached up and buried his fingers in her soft, wavy hair, finding feet beneath him as she wrapped an arm about his neck. She was so warm and willing and he couldn't stop himself if he wanted to. Guilt be damned.

He gripped her hand and she cried out, retreating from their embrace. Severus came back to himself and pulled back as well.

"I'm sorry." He said, gazing up to see her holding her right hand close. "Are you injured?"

"It's...it's nothing. The King, he doesn't know his own strength, I suppose."

"The King?" Severus stood, coming before Persephone with worry.

"It's nothing."

"Let me see this nothing." They stood a few feet from each other, but he bridged the gap in one stride. Persephone extended her hand slowly and he took it. Three of her fingers were very swollen and there were small bruises like those of long, thin fingers. He sighed, cupping her face.

"Why did you not tell me he hurt you?"

"He hurts us all, Severus. My wounds are not special."

"I am supposed to take care of you. I cannot do that if you will hide your injuries from me."

"You hide everything from me. Bruised fingers are such a little thing. I would have fixed it myself, but there is only one lab in the manor and it is not mine."

"Come." Severus laced his fingers through the ones on her good hand and led her out of the dining room. His lab was down the hall from his bedroom, with reinforced walls, floor and roof. Since his tenure as Headmaster and the Dark King's highest, he had earned a vault full of Galleons and spent it on the things he would have liked to have had if the world had gone the other way. And if he had survived the Light's victory.

Severus hadn't brewed a potion in months, but he never forgot the ways. Persephone claimed the stool in the corner, beneath the high shelves with the empty vials and he set about finding her a suitable salve. Her voice carried from behind as he entered his adjoining storeroom.

"Do you brew still?"

"Not lately. The King's business gave me little free time." Severus didn't say the real truth, which was that after a couple years the joy in his talent had faded as he found all the other things he was talented at.

"You continue to enjoy it?" She was walking around, he could hear how she stepped further away.

"I..I suppose."

His hands found the salve behind a bottle of Dreamless Sleep and a half-full vial of Veritaserum. Those had become frequently made when his empty manor and bad memories came running in the dark of the night. He hadn't noticed it until one night he went to place another bottle of Dreamless on the shelf and found fourteen others. There was only one left now, he had consumed the rest.

Persephone was holding a stirring rod in her hand, turning it back and forth. She had a somewhat familiar look on her face. It must have been how Hermione looked when he presented a complex problem in class.

"What happened to you?" Persephone said it so softly he almost didn't hear.

"Wha...what are you asking?"

"Your dearest profession, your greatest talent, the reason I admired you so much...but you haven't so much as touched these. Diamond, silver...you've got vials on the walls, four different cauldrons, parchment, ink, dragon-hide workwear. Your ingredient room is better stocked than most stores. And dust...it covers everything."

"The King's business..."

"Yes, you've said." Persephone came up to him and stared without blinking into his eyes. "If you tell me everything, I will tell you everything. Hide things from me and there are parts of me you will never find."

Severus was afraid. How much was she allowed to know? Could she hide it from the King if it came down to it? He set the salve on the counter and crossed his arms.

"You don't need to know everything." She made to protest, but he continued. "But, I will tell you what I can."

"Okay." She held her hand out once more and he started to heal her. The salve was terribly warm out of the jar, but grew frigid cold as it settled in her skin. She shivered delicately.

"What do you want to know?"

"How was work?"

He chuckled. "Am I that out of practice that you knew I was withholding information?" Persephone nodded slowly. "Terrible. I fear Yaxley is working with Rodolphus Lestrange to tempt my faculty against me. The show of favoritism with the second throne incited their fury. It was only a matter of time before they reacted. If they succeed in their quest, it will be considerably more difficult to control the school and its foolish denizens. Add to that the...the rebellion against the King and these puzzle pieces you keep mentioning and my plate is very full. It overflows if I cannot also keep you safe."

Severus gazed at her pleadingly, begging her to understand her value and her importance, not only to him but also to the world. Persephone smiled.

"I confess I did not want to tell you about my hand because it was the King that caused it."

"You need not fear his wrath against me."

"It was not that."

"Then against yourself."

"I do not fear the King." Persephone tested her grip and winced only slightly. He added more salve, massaging it into her skin.

"You should. He could kill us both if the mood struck him."

"He won't kill me." She said it as though she were assuring him that the earth revolved around the sun or that there was air in her lungs. Not a flicker of dishonesty touched her face. It frightened him. A person without fear was a person without caution and without caution all spies are dead.

"You cannot be sure."

"He doesn't understand me and it scares him. I don't fear him and it confuses him. Above all, my loyalties lie both with him and against him. I am an unknown and it unsettles him. He will not harm me because he cannot comprehend me and until I am no longer a riddle, I am safe."

"Despite how strong your conviction is in this matter, I must insist you inform me before entering dangerous situations, when you are in them and after you have survived them. It is my responsibility to protect you. Let me, at least, attempt to fulfill my duty."

Severus stared at her and he did not waver until she rose from her place beside his work table on her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips.

"I promise to keep you informed, if you promise to do the same."

"I promise." He said it without pause and she sighed heavily.

"The puzzle pieces come first. We must gather them, we must destroy them, and we must not fail. You know what they are, don't you?"

Moody hadn't told him and he wasn't sure where to begin searching for information. The wrong word in the wrong ear would set off the misgivings all his enemies already had. Hell forbid he give Rodolphus any more fuel for his insane 'crusade for the dark' fire. He shook his head.

"The gifts given to you by the King. They are more valuable than you know. With them, he is invincible. Without them, he is as we are. Mortal and there will be no magic that could save him. I am here," She said, stepping closer to him. "because he doesn't know me and I do not fear. You and I are the only ones that can bring him down from the inside. You and I against the whole of his darkness and we will prevail."

"I trust we will try." It was all he could grant without lying. "Is that all?"

"No. I cannot sleep. When I lay in the dark, I dream of eyes staring into me, through me, watching each other as if I am merely a shade...a curtain between their realms. One has the King's eyes, the other has only one eye, bluer than lightning and wide, unblinking. No matter which way I turn or how I scream, they ignore me and I disappear." Persephone leaned into him and rested her head against his chest. "I just want to sleep."

Severus did not comment on her dreams, he merely returned to his storeroom, put away the extra salve and collected the last Dreamless Sleep. He guided her to his room across the hall and she followed him with a quirked brow.

"If you wake in the night, because you chose to not take this," he handed her the Dreamless. "Then I will be by your side. If you take it, I will be here when you wake. I will not leave you."

"You make grand promises when I need it the most. How many times did you practice your romantic promises in the mirror?"

"Every day for most of my teens, then about twice monthly when the war started all over again." He felt a small smirk form on his lips and Persephone stopped moving long enough to give him an incredulous look.

"Are you..._joking_ with me?"

"Must be a little rusty with it still. I apologize. It's only that I don't have many people to joke with."

"Well, now you do. And you must practice at least twice monthly."

Severus chuckled and his cheeks turned a light pink. "Take your potion."

Persephone laughed before tipping the potion into her mouth and handing him the empty vial. He vanished it with a flick of his hand. He slipped past her and flipped back the comforter, stepping as far back as he could so she could make her decision. Persephone smiled at him so brightly, he wondered if she were made of light and squirmed into his bed. He tucked her in and she curled beneath his thick covers. Her eyes closed as she thanked him and he sat on the edge of the bed, watching as she succumbed to her exhaustion and found rest.

For a moment, he joined her, wrapping his arms around her as tight as he was allowed. She smelled like fruit and he buried his face in her hair. As her breathing evened out, Severus remembered what Ginny Weasley had told him.

_She'll remember everything_.

That possessiveness invaded him again and his hold on Persephone tightened. He felt like a leech that rolled off one host to simply claim another out of hunger. Self-loathing crawled about inside him as he reflected.

_You are nothing without something to have in avarice. She'll run from you as Lily did when she becomes herself again._

He wanted to scream at himself. Instead, he buried his face deeper in Persephone's scented hair and bit his lip to stifle the tears falling from his eyes. He didn't want to lose her...he didn't want to feel that unbearable pain in his chest. Why was she so warm in his arms? Why did she say the things she had said?

Severus thought of Alastor Moody and his self-loathing turned to anger. Persephone's love was his creation, wasn't it? Sure, Hermione had been amiable when she was here and had sworn to return, but she had never professed love. Why would she? He was the Slayer and no matter how many times he saved her from death, he had murdered the one man all men looked up to in fear or admiration. No one could love that treacherous excuse for a wizard...even someone as kind-hearted as the creator of S.P.E.W. and stalwart friend of Potter.

Suddenly the bed wasn't inviting and her warmth turn to fire. He disengaged and slid off the bed. Persephone slept on. Quietly, so as not to stir her, Severus dressed and left the room. He walked down the hall and descended the stairs. It was late at night, but he had one very last trip to make. One he could not deny even if he wanted to.

The crushing of Apparation helped him center his mind and he found his way to the Nest without so much as stumbling on the broken cobblestones. Once inside, he focused on Hermione's face, on the joy of having her alive, in his arms and sent a Patronus.

_To the thief and the wolf and the king without a crown, the snake is in the nest._

For a moment he thought perhaps that was too ambiguous, but he had already sent it and didn't truly care if they scratched their heads at his message. Severus waited all of twenty minutes for them to answer his call and the space was filled with endless speculation and questions. Finally, as he was growing agitated and impatient, the wards about the Nest shifted and three people entered.

Moody, draped in his trademark coat, and sporting a scowl. Remus Lupin, who looked much healthier and calm. And last, but not least, Kingsley Shacklebolt, clad in dark purple wizard robes.

"Conflicted, Severus?" Remus asked, eyeing him with little more than an amused curiosity.

"Depends on what you are referring to, Lupin." he responded and Kingsley answered.

"Your patronus is rather odd. A doe with a lion's mane and paws, paws," he reiterated. "not hooves. Her eyes were quite familiar as well. Dark, like chocolate."

Moody was frowning. "Why'd you call us here, Slayer? What's happened?"

Severus folded his arms before him and stared at his three companions. "Nothing. But it will remain that way until I get information. What are these puzzle pieces Herm...Persephone keeps talking about? It gives her headaches to ponder over it." He watched the other two men closely to see if the headaches and the use of the codename drew any reaction. Both frowned and looked to each other before looking at Moody. The latter sighed.

"It is the reason the King still lives despite all the times he has perished or come close. The puzzle pieces keep him alive. Keep part of him here. I didn't know about them until I peeked into Hermione's mind." Flicking his eyes over to his companions, he whispered. "He has horcruxes."

Kingsley's face morphed into a mask of fear and Lupin's jaw ticked. "What are horcruxes?" he asked.

Severus knew and he let his arms fall to his sides as the implications became apparent. If the King had horcruxes, plural being the most important observation, then they had far more before them than he had first presumed. And Hermione had known before Moody had erased her memories...but how had she known when even Moody did not? Severus gazed up at the three assembled and a thought struck him.

Kingsley's brown eyes met Severus' black and for once they had the exact same thought.

"Bring Weasley." Severus ordered.

* * *

Standing once more at his library balcony, the King on the Throne of Bodies relaxed the vice-grip his hand had on his wand. When he dwelt on Persephone Damasca and the theory he had on her, it tightened something in his chest. He couldn't stand the fear that seized him. He was King Voldemort and he feared nothing...nothing but those emerald eyes when they softened and grew shiny. Her face floated behind his eyes as the landscape shifted under a strong night wind.

"My lord!" Wormtail gasped from the doorway, wheezing as he tried to breathe.

Sighing and turning, Voldemort granted the short man one look and left him standing in the library. He didn't need his voice in his ear as he thought these things over. This woman was taking his concentration from his kingdom and he wanted to end this infatuation as soon as possible. Perhaps he could invite her back? No, that would appear as though he was interested and, though he was, that was the last thing he needed.

Nagini slithered by his toes as he walked by her, hissing something about prisoners. In an rare fit of pique at his familiar he kicked her aside. The wounded slithering and hissing that met his ears cooled him and he glanced back in regret. The apology wouldn't rise to his lips and he grew angrier at himself.

He made his way into his largest study, which was littered with parchment and quills. Ink bottles, some capped, some not were scattered about the room, by candles, by books, by empty journals with crisp pages. Voldemort grabbed a quill and a sheaf of parchment.

_Work_, he told himself, _don't give yourself the chance to think of her._

The negotiations with Italy were moving along now, he attributed that to the show with the dead girl and he had finally heard word back from Australia about the conferences there and it appeared it was tentatively in his favor. Things were still too soon to tell if everything would play out as it was set up to, and he hated the waiting now that he had achieved some movement.

But he wouldn't die so he needed to learn to cope with never-ending time and he relished the assurance of his unlimited supply. His long white fingers brought forth important papers and he signed what needed to be signed, decided what needed to be decided and wrote reminders to those he knew would forget themselves.

After what felt like at least an hour, he had cleared the study of all its unruly confetti and had accomplished quite a bit of work. But he had ignored Wormtail and his dealings with France, those being the only things giving him new problems. Of course, so was the United States, Canada and Russia. Those three had already given him vehement negative responses and they had friends who were on the cusp of doing the same. Germany for one; their newly former Minister had begun falling to Voldemort's side and had been systematically cast out and replaced by a stalwart blond with a gift for not receiving his letters...or himself for that matter. No one else had been so adept at keeping him away from their country. At least Canada allowed him to visit and speak, the Germans had closed that door and bolted it.

Japan had at first shown great promise of joining him and for a handful of months or so they had been on great terms, but after meeting with China and India, even the island nation had revoked him.

Voldemort would not be denied. Soon he would have the nations he desperately needed for trade and commerce and he would crush all those that held to their feeble protections. It was only a matter of time; _which_, he thought with a vengeance,_ I have in spades_.

His weeping servant Wormtail was pacing the library aisles in a snit, muttering to himself about his faithfulness. It was so absurd that Voldemort chuckled behind the rodent's back. The sound echoed throughout the books and the man before him yelped.

"My king!" Wormtail gasped, short of breath this time from shock. "I've urgent news about Lucius Malfoy...as...as you requested."

Staring at the man in silence, his head tilted ever so slightly to the right, Voldemort took a step forward. It was fulfilling in a sadistic way to see the pure fear in the crinkles around Wormtail's eyes and nose; the way he curled in on himself out of instinct...as a rat should to a snake.

"Speak." the king ordered, passing around and walking away.

"Lu-Lucius hasn't spoken with Minister Boudin in weeks. It appears..." Wormtail scurried loudly to catch up with Voldemort's long strides. "It appears he has been barred from meeting with the Minister since the end of October. Word on the street has it that he had spent his time with...with whores to avoid reporting back to you."

The thought of Lucius crumbling under pressure brightened his day drastically. Though the prideful pureblood had grown weak and fearful after the events of the Ministry, Lucius Malfoy had refused to break because he had lost his rank. It had been a rather mixed bag of emotions; Voldemort was both pleased that his servant wouldn't break, but also displeased because of that very fact. But this...this was great news.

"And did you happen to speak to Lucius on your visit?"

"No, my king. He...uh...he was preoccupied when I found him at the local pub. He would not have recognized me if he had truly seen me and he was too far gone to relay information."

"Are you sure of this?"

"I am. I did attempt to speak to him, but he passed out when he stood up to greet me. The patrons seemed to enjoy that." There was a hint of a laugh inside the rat's voice and Voldemort watched him from the corner of his red eyes.

"Return to Paris. On the morrow you will watch him and if he still has made no attempt to call on the Minister...I will handle the rest."

Wormtail's smile fled and he nodded strongly. With a wave of his hand, Voldemort sent the short man away.

His thoughts turned to the only place he had not let them go and he stood in his library in silent fury. His gripping fear that grew out of her green eyes troubled him for many reasons, but he could not escape the central one. Those eyes were not just hers, they were Harry Potter's and they were Lily Evans Potter's. The first had been the prophesied foe he had gone to destroy and the second had been the mistake that had destroyed him.

Those eyes...so harmless as jewels, so enticing as a Slytherin color, had been something to him repeatedly over the years since the prophecy. Those eyes had been defeat. And now they came again, in such a beautiful form, on the arm of the one servant he both trusted and watched. As much as the four years since the Light's destruction had improved Severus' loyalty and iciness, Voldemort could not deny the timing was suspect.

Did it not appear clearly that the despondency stemmed from despair, not victory? But there had been no limit to his servitude when the Light fell. What Voldemort asked of Severus he received in the quickest manner possible. Be it the death of muggles or the fetching of an object. No weather, no duels, no...fear could impede him. Surely that was not simply the result of despair? There had to be some underlying loyalty to spawn that single-mindedness, hadn't there?

The library grew annoying and Voldemort paced out of the room and down the hall. The wind outside had died down and the lake was still once more. The moon cast a glow upon it that echoed out onto the tops of trees and the more reflective sides of the leaves. Some four-legged beast skipped across his land and to the other side unmolested. He supposed it was a deer. Perhaps even a doe.

His thoughts found a familiar path and he let himself be lured down it.

He had yet to investigate the Damasca family, which stood out to him as odd, and he disliked not knowing everything about the green-eyed woman who had taken such a starring role in his kingdom in such a short time.

He could have Rodolphus do it; that man slept about as much as Lucius for all the work he did. Yaxley was too much of a wild card when it came to matters that concerned Severus...as was Lestrange for that matter, but he couldn't deny the latter man had a deft hand for family records.

Decided, Voldemort entered his ballroom and touched his hand to his right temple. The connection between him and his Death Eaters was like a separate network of synapses in his mind and he plucked the one he needed.

Nagini was outside hunting for dinner and Wormtail was gone back to France by this time. The manor was surprisingly empty except, of course, for the mute children and the man in his dungeon lashed to the wall. The very one that tried to kill him. But Rodolphus disturbed his wards and he set his mind to the proper task as he waited for the man to emerge.

"My lord." Rodolphus said, bowing as he stepped up to Voldemort's feet. The fact that no one else was about seemed to both please the man and frighten him.

"Lestrange," Voldemort hissed coldly, stepping around his follower and folding his hands before him. "You have a talent I shall require the use of. It occurs to me that Severus has found a pureblood woman from a supposedly powerful family, and yet I have heard nothing of their prowess from anyone. I know the trees better than most, better than even you, but I do not recall one Damasca of worth in them. Find their records. Search their properties. Interrogate whomever holds information. You have one week to report back to me...and I will not accept failure. Succeed or do not return."

Bowing as low as permitted without kneeling, Rodolphus Lestrange could barely hide a smirk of joy.

* * *

**A/N: **So sorry this took so long but this chapter was one of the ones that started to veer off-plot and I wanted to take the time to fix it. (Well, that and I found a FrostIron fic on Ao3 that just blew my mind and had me occupied for hours. It will be waiting for me once I post this too, so...) The next installment should come faster and will include fancy party favors, a meeting with Rodolphus, Yaxley and Persephone, and Ron gets a task quite similar to one in this chapter. Hope you enjoyed it and please review. Tickle2Kill.


	22. Make Ready

~*~Make Ready~*~

Ron was carting a whole rack of muffins from one side of the bakery to the other while Edna griped about the lack of blueberries when a silvery animal appeared in the room. It was a lynx, he could tell by its ears and he set the muffins down safely as he waited for the message.

"_Ron, come to the Nest. It is urgent_." Kingsley's voice was calm, but strained.

Before the animal could completely vanish like smoke, Ron had already charged through it, throwing open the door and taking off down Ariana Rd. All those times out on missions had infused him with an instinctive energy reserve, which he found he could call upon in desperate situations. The ground before him didn't stretch out like it usually did when he wanted to go somewhere, and he found himself at the path to the bookstore within a few moments.

There was dust in the tunnel and it made his breathing difficult but he continued onward, bursting into the cluttered mess of books without a single sound. His wand flicked and he cleared the path so his running wouldn't be impeded, then he tapped the top of his head and felt the cold wash of a Disillusionment spell. Ron knew that his red hair would be a dead giveaway if he was seen running down in Knockturn, wand at the ready.

The streets outside Erebus Books were quiet and still but that could mean all sorts of things. There was an attack happening as he answered Kingsley's patronus. There was an ambush just up the street and he would need to cast a protego as he crossed into it. They had all been discovered and he would have to be the first guardian between the whole of Voldemort's power and the people he loved.

But as he ran his adrenaline calmed. No one was leaping out to apprehend him, no shouts filled the air around him. He nearly burned the hair right off a smirking pusher as he knocked into the man's cart, but there was no danger. More or less invisible, Ron carried onward to the Nest with no trouble and mounting confusion.

The Nest was quiet and nothing was moving inside it, so Ron put his wand out in front of him, waiting for an attack. He'd learned the hard way that charging in without caution was dangerous. As soon as he crossed the threshold, he flicked up his shield. Nothing bombarded him and the air was still, but Moody chuckled.

"At least you didn't walk in unarmed. Come, boy, you need to answer some questions."

Ron frowned, removing his Disillusionment, lowered his wand and stepped to the side. Remus and Kingsley were to his left, Moody to his right and when he let his eyes roam a little more, he saw the Slayer. His first reaction was to curse him, but Ginny had warned him about being an idiot and the fact that the hook-nosed murderer was the only person taking care of Hermione behind enemy lines. Summoning all his self-control, he sheathed his wand and took a deep breath.

The greasy git was staring at him and it made him uncomfortable. "What's the question?" he asked.

"What do you know of the Dark Lord's horcruxes?" the Slayer inquired, coming to the forefront.

"Whatever Dumbledore told Harry and Harry told me. Why?" Ron supposed it would be foolish to say that Voldemort didn't have horcruxes, they obviously already knew.

"This is of great importance, Weasley. Hermione can't tell me properly and I need to know so I can protect her and make myself of use. Whatever you know, I need to know." the Slayer's voice was much like he remembered, but the plea in the black eyes was not. Ron felt conflicted and his mind kept catching on the use of Hermione instead of Miss Granger.

Conjuring a chair, which caused the other wizards to do so, Ron sat down and gathered his thoughts.

"We know about the gifts you Lords have been given," he began, softly. The Slayer frowned but nodded, and seemed attentive to what he was saying, which made Ron wonder if this really was Snape. The old Snape would have never given him the time in second. "Well, those things aren't sentimental trinkets. They are his horcruxes. He made the diary first...the one that almost killed my sister. Then he killed his father and grandparents to make the ring,"

"The cursed one on Albus' hand?" Potions Master interrupted with frown. "I stopped that curse myself...for as long as was possible." Ron stared so long at the Slayer that Moody cleared his throat.

"Continue, boy."

Ron nodded and shifted in his seat while he thought. "Well, next came the locket. Harry and Dumbledore were going to retrieve it...but a fraud was in its place. The entire trip was for nothing. All we got was some stupid cheap locket with a note inside. Hermione tried to reason it out, but we...we couldn't follow up on any of our stronger leads since..." he paused and met the Slayer's eyes. "Since the King took control."

There was no remorse in the black eyes, only acceptance and understanding. Ron found it hard to keep watching the man and coughed. Every preconception he had was being shattered and it felt off not completely loathing the Slytherin traitor. Wouldn't Harry be fuming and ready to blast the Potions Master away? His brain hurt trying to reason it out and he started again.

"But when Bill gave his report, he mentioned a locket and that Draco Malfoy has it now. That should be the easiest to get since the elder Malfoy is so busy abroad." Ron mulled over everything and continued. "Then he made the cup, the one that the Lestranges have been gifted with. Then...then there's the gift that was given to you."

"The Dark Lord told me it was already within my school and there was no need to search it out. Though I did my own thorough search for it and found nothing."

"Well, the git tells his followers whatever he wants them to hear. Pawns don't need to know the board. Dumbledore did the same." He still had a little hatred for Dumbledore never looking at him, for never trusting that he could become anything of use. Being a chess champion made Ron see the truth faster than anyone. On the fallen headmaster's board he was almost less than a pawn and Harry was the biggest pawn of all.

"Years ago I would have taken comfort in knowing I wasn't anything of importance. All I had ever wanted was consolidated in a singular entity and that entity would not come for power. But I never knew how important I was, never knew I could traverse the board more than anyone and in shadow. It is time a pawn brought the player to the ground." Snape's voice was strong and determined, more Gryffindor than Slytherin in its certainty.

The fathomless black pools were staring so deeply into his blue ones that Ron could nearly read the Slayer's mind. Their hands met over the space between them and they shook. The game had changed. Silence took a moment to overcome the small space.

"Narcissa Malfoy has mentioned Kestrel Damasca and her children. It appears that Persephone existed. I asked Hermione to warn you, but it seems prudent to remind you." The Slayer whispered, sitting back as he surveyed those present.

Moody's face blanked and he shifted in his seat. Ron wondered if he knew something. "Have you found proof?"

"Not as yet, but if Narcissa knows than it is only a matter of time before the Dark Lord does. I would delve into this and attempt to secure our ruse, but I haven't the time to spare. If I know the Dark Lord, he has already assigned the task to someone. We need to hurry."

"I can do it." Ron interjected before the others could speak.

"You've got work to do at the refuge, Weasley." Moody began, pulling himself to standing.

"No, you've got work to do. Let someone who gives a damn take this one, old man." Ron vanished his chair and eyed Kingsley. "You still have Harry's cloak in lockdown?"

"Of course, were you going for the subtle approach for once?"

"Thought I'd try it on for size." Deftly, he followed Kingsley out of the Nest.

* * *

The house elves were milling about hurriedly, hanging garland and clearing out the west wing dining hall so the wooden floor was wide open and spacious. Persephone noted that the room wasn't as extravagant as the King's ballroom, but she could handle the smaller space better. She had hoped Severus would help her, but he had come in early in the morning, when the sun was stirring behind the horizon and left before the sun could fully emerge to shine through the windows. He was distracted and tired, and he kept gazing at her like she was some puzzle he hadn't the time to complete but desperately wanted to.

Since she didn't have a job or children, or friends for that matter, Persephone wanted to make a good showing at this party. She could help Narcissa with the Draco problem and possibly make Astoria her friend. She needed something to cushion her when Severus was off and about at the school.

Persephone had half a mind to go shopping randomly, but she could never seem to find the right time to ask Severus for spending money. She had dug around her possessions and tried to think of where she could have put her purse, but it was nowhere to be found and the house elves were of no use finding it. It appeared they had never seen it. She had tried describing it: purple, small, beaded, but they shook their little heads in confusion.

It was the middle of the day now and Severus wouldn't be back until too late for most stores anyway, so she'd have to get most of her shopping done tomorrow. It was the twenty-third and she had only finished sending out invitations this morning. Persephone hoped it wouldn't be too inconvenient for everyone.

Narcissa had responded almost immediately that she would be coming and bringing her son, the Greengrasses hadn't answered her until noon but they had also decided to come. The Lestranges hadn't responded at all yet and she thought perhaps they weren't attending.

_The least they could have done was write to tell me no_.

She had gone about asking Narcissa to add people to the list and without her control the invited group grew larger. Not as large as the Yule Ball, but then again, she only meant to get to know everyone. That was beginning to become more of a job than a hobby.

Persephone searched through her closet to find something to wear to a Christmas party, and avoided the red dresses like the plague. Something about wearing that color to a holiday party made her uncomfortable. There was a cream-colored gown with an empire waist and small golden designs about the hems that she was partial to and she set that aside from the rest.

She had told Grepa what she wished for the dinner and fretted with her free time over whether gifts were expected for her guests. It was around lunch time and she hoped Severus would come home, so she could ask for spending money. A part of her was furious that she had to ask at all. Her purse had to be somewhere.

Quietly, as though he didn't dare disturb the wild flying decorations, Severus slid past the room and vanished up the stairs. Persephone would have missed him, but she had happened to glance up at the changing angle of the sunbeam she had been enjoying to catch a glimpse of his back. The school must have survived the day.

"Love?" she asked softly, trying to work herself up to the task of humility.

Severus footfalls suddenly stopped and the house grew quiet except for the sound of the elves at work behind her. She advanced, pausing at the base of the stairs to stare upwards at his black clad back. He didn't look quite as tired as he had before. She hoped he had caught a little rest at the school.

"I...I can't find my purse. I think I might have left it in that shack you took me to. I don't want to burden you, but could I perhaps have a few Galleons?" She swallowed at his silence and rushed to fill it. "I could repay you...once I find my purse. It's just that this party has no favors and I thought I could buy everyone something. Maybe magical candles or everlasting ink...or candy."

Persephone felt she must have sounded pathetic to him. After a second, he turned around.

"You don't need to be going out. I'll get whatever it is you need."

"Am I incapable of buying a few simple items? I'm not a child, Severus."

"It is my money you are asking for."

"And I tore myself down enough to ask for it, the least you could do is be a little more amiable!" She attempted to lower her voice, but the indignation refused to let her. Suddenly, she felt sheepish. "I'm sorry for yelling."

Severus came back down the stairs and eyed her. With a sigh, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'll go with you."

She was staring at his face and she realized that he hadn't slept at all. "You haven't slept."

"There are more important things to do than sleep."

"But not if you're too exhausted to do them. Go to bed, I'll be fine."

His dark eyes, which were half-closed, stared at her for so long she almost changed her mind. Then he sighed and dug within his robes for a small purse, it was full to bursting with Galleons. He set it in her hand.

"Will you be safe?"

"I'm only going to Diagon Alley. I'll be fine."

"Keep close watch of everyone and attack if you feel threatened, but run as soon as you are able. Even my influence has its limits."

"I will." She could sense his unease and softly kissed him. "Get some sleep, Severus. You shouldn't torture yourself like this." Her hand smoothed the hair out of his face and he closed his eyes.

"Come back just as you left."

She smiled and nodded until she realized he couldn't see her. "Of course. Back in a bit."

Persephone left the manor with a smile, Apparating to the Leaky Cauldron and made her way through to the back. When she tapped the third stone to the left and Diagon Alley was revealed, she thought for a moment that she was almost home. Passing by the entrance to Knockturn, staring into the darkness beyond Diagon's light, she knew if she turned, if she stepped into that black place, she would indeed be home.

Everything she loved was in that place. Her family, her friends, and a boy with green eyes laying in a hospital bed. She even saw a boy with brown eyes, for a moment she even knew his name was Neville, then she blinked. Then she forgot.

* * *

Yaxley realized as he meandered down Diagon Alley that all this scheming was exhausting but Rodolphus had a lead and you couldn't force him to let it go. The man was thorough like that. Yaxley supposed it was admirable, but tiring nonetheless. Not to say that he wasn't dedicated to the theory that Persephone Damasca wasn't what she claimed to be. It stood out like a sore thumb that she was either false or some other creature entirely.

He had never met anyone, not even Bellatrix Lestrange, that could hold such fearlessness while in the King's presence. Well, aside from Snape. The King had found not a punishable offense, but a pride in Snape's unflinching black gaze and it put the rest of them to shame. He couldn't remember even one time when he had mustered up the courage to meet those red eyes with such lack of emotion. Fear was their trade, he knew, and none could wield it as well as their sovereign.

And at the present moment, considering the King's stance on it all, he was quite ready to concede defeat on this woman's origins. He was a Death Eater, but he had yet to reach the fanaticism of his brethren. Rodolphus and his wife were very sycophantic, which most attributed to their time in Azkaban. It was hard to maintain pace with that kind of senseless devotion. Though, let it be said, he was as surely the King's man as any. His level of devotion would not be questioned by any but himself.

The street around him was filling up, but he had to only glance and people would clear the way. He liked that power, but being Rodolphus' errand boy was not as enjoyable. He was sick to death of checking in and leeching the lackluster information from Alecto. That woman was as foolish as she was a formless; short, dumpy thing.

Snape spent much of his time in his office but during select meals, which had no rhyme or reason, he would appear. For lunch two days in a row, dinner one night and breakfast that next morning but no lunch; so sporadically that Yaxley could scarce form a pattern. If only he could have access to Snape and his new woman without such restraint.

The King did not seem to mind the woman and that seemed to be enough of a reason to ignore her, but Rodolphus had quite a good idea. If they revealed a mistake even their leader hadn't seen, then maybe they would be catapulted up the ranks and Snape would fall as he should have ages ago.

Tonight he was to meet Rodolphus for what the man had called a "debriefing". He must have discovered something on his research into the Damasca family. He hoped it was a bigger break than the fact that the house elves had been fooling with Alecto's pot roast.

"Miss Damasca, are you sure you would not like some assistance?"

He nearly stumbled into a broom display outside Quality Quidditch Supplies as his mind caught up with what his ears had heard. Quickly, he gazed about until he found the source.

Dressing in a light yellow witch's robe, Persephone Damasca was wrestling with the bags she had hanging over her arms, he saw a few glass figures peeking out of the top of the bags. She was fussing over each one, until she had them sorted in what she seemed to think was a easy manner.

"Yes, thank you. You have a lovely night." And she turned, heading towards his side of the street. Yaxley wondered what Rodolphus would do if he came to the 'debriefing' with their target on his arm. What better way to stun the man speechless?

Laughing to himself, Yaxley hurried to run parallel to the woman. She stumbled up beside him and as she made apologies for her clumsiness, he took the opportunity to rid her of some of her weight. Her eyes lit up as she thanked him.

"Have we met? I'm sure I know your face." He understood well why both the King and Rodolphus were so enamored with her. Her eyes shined like gems and she had a sweet disarming smile that held no judgement or hatred. It was out of place and yet he could not say that she would not fit right in with the rest of them. Perhaps her outer appearance covered up her true nature.

"Perhaps at the King's Yule Ball. Call me Yaxley." The bags were heavy and he shifted them around to match her pace.

"Ah, yes, the Ball." She seemed to drift mentally and then her gaze settled on his face. "Please call me Persephone."

"As you wish." He glanced at the glass figurines and came up with a thought. "Are these gifts for someone?"

Her face changed to a brighter smile and he swallowed to contain the urge to smile back. What foolishness was this? "I'm having a Christmas party. I didn't know what to get, but I found these beautiful animals sculpted out of glass and couldn't resist. I hope everyone likes them."

"Christmas party?"

"Yes, I've never thrown one before. Has Narcissa not given you an invitation?"

"No, I am afraid she has not. This is the first I have heard of a party."

"Oh, that won't do." Persephone stopped and dug in her pocket, producing a red envelope. It reminded him of a Howler for a moment, but he cast out that thought as he took it from her.

"Thank you." He looked over to his walking companion and frowned. Why was she so trusting of him? Surely a member of the Light would have some reservations about conversing with a known Death Eater? She didn't twitch, let him hold her property and spoke to him as though they had known each other for years. But how could she be part of the resistance with this attitude toward him? Doubt crept into his mind.

"It's a pleasure, Yaxley. So, what brings you out tonight?"

"I'm meeting a friend."

"Oh, then I should go. I wouldn't want to make you late." Persephone crossed the street again with him, smiling at the children that walked by.

"No, he has been wanting to have a nice talk with Snape's paramour for a while. Come say hello to him."

She met his stare, frowned prettily and shrugged. "I suppose I could. But it must be brief, I don't want Severus to worry."

"You're in good hands." Yaxley assured her, guiding them towards the Gabian's Cafe.

* * *

Bellatrix was fretting over her present to the King and had been an unholy terror throughout the house lately, but thankfully he hadn't been home for too long. His current task was both helpful in his plan against Snape and what the King had bade him do. He liked how his machinations were coming to life well without with his interference.

The Damasca family was a very suspicious and close-minded group, prone to destroying records and pictures as well as some of his most promising leads. It had taken the better part of the day just to pinpoint where the family estate was located only to find out that the place had been sold ten years ago. He had gone to the Ministry and hounded the records for anything they could give him, but the most he could find was proof of the family's mental, financial and social decline in the recent years.

The last surviving child of the late Abidan Damasca was Kestrel, his daughter, who had had two children. Penelope, as her recprds showed she was called, had come first and was very sickly, Icarus second and he had not been much better. It seemed Kestrel had sent the boy to Hogwarts to both encourage him to learn and better himself to in turn salvage the family and so that he could weave ties with the young children of known Death Eaters. Many ailing families had taken up this practice lately.

The records however, did not divulge where Kestrel was, if she was alive or if Penelope had survived the rather vicious disease which she had had from birth. He assumed from the lack of recorded proof that she had to be dead as the family account had gone quiet and there were no sightings of her outside of the _Persephone_ Severus had acquired.

The disease little Penelope had been plagued with was marked down as incurable on one of the St Mungos forms buried beneath a deed for a mansion that he knew was no longer in existence. The family estate, which he had visited, only afforded him a little of the desired information and the current residents were rich Ministry officials in the Magical Creatures department. He wasn't sure how they managed to become so rich at such a mundane occupation, but he had an inkling that the portraits of dragons with saddles had something to do with it. Muggles raced horses and automobiles, wizards raced hippogriffs, and in extreme cases, dragons.

Rodolphus had been one of the only members of the dark to remain adamant that the light had not been vanquished. Their enemy had vanished to conveniently for them to be dead, and usually massacres produced more...physical evidence. Without a body, he would forever believe the light was alive and Penelope had been too sick and feeble to be the Persephone in court. But then, since he was positive that the Light had survived the Fall and were merely hiding out behind the limelight for their chance to begin a rebellion, he didn't think it was past them to kidnap or kill someone to stop their foes. He would have expected no less from them.

He was going to retrace his steps and look into Abidan's brother, Caurini's, line if nothing came of this. Maybe a cousin of Kestrel would know something. Caurini had had four children, but knowing this family half of them were probably dead and the other half had their records expunged.

The cafe that had sprung up after Fortescue's had been destroyed was the perfect place for a meeting, since each table was outfitted with a privacy spell that would make conversations at the table silent to others. A small bell in the center of the table would call the waiter over and once they stepped inside the spell's limits, they could hear you speak. He used this place frequently for business.

Yaxley was running a little behind schedule so he ordered a drink. The only thing Rodolphus hated more than tardy people was New Year's. But that was simply because his lovely wife lost what was left of her sanity in the approaching storm that was the King's birthday and he had to avoid his own home to escape her outbursts. She was always looking for the perfect gift, which was actually only a starter as she hoped to end the night letting the King rip the ribbon of her clothing off her body. At this point, he really didn't care anymore about it. Personally, it didn't feel like the end of the year if he didn't see his wife scantily clad, running out the door an hour before midnight.

The clicking of heels on the cobblestones made him look up and his face froze when he saw the source. With a hand around Yaxley's arm, Persephone Damasca herself was coming towards him, a half-smile stuck on her face.

"Dolph, good day." Yaxley pulled out a chair for their guest and then sat himself, a self-satisfied smirk on his haggard face.

"Yes." He replied dumbly, eying his new company. The privacy spell settled around them.

"Rodolphus, right? From the ball as well?" Persephone said it as though she had forgotten him, but the look on her face said otherwise. Did she still hold him as a cruel man with little feelings because she couldn't save those children and he had called her on that fact? He chuckled, _Good, she should think of me like that. Maybe then she won't be so surprised when I destroy her entire, and entirely false, existence_.

"Quite right, lovely girl. I see Severus finally let you out by yourself. Get anything interesting?"

"A few things, yes. Thank you for asking." She was eying him uncertainly, almost warily and Yaxley chucked.

"Rodolphus here is very interested in you. It is not often that someone stumps him, especially such a lovely young lady like yourself. Please, tell us how it is you came to meet our dear Severus?"

Persephone looked down at her hands then took a sip of her water, a complimentary thing that appeared for each guest. "After my brother...fell, I was called to the school because of my status as the only living close relative. I had to collect his belongings and deal with his burial. Severus was...is a very understanding man. He helped me cope with the sudden loss."

Rodolphus fought the urge to grab her. He had played this game for decades, he knew a story when he heard one. This girl was reading from a script that had been written for her, inserting what emotions she deemed fit for it as she spoke. How did their sovereign not see this?

"I see. And how is it that you are the only one left?"

"My mother was sick, it was incurable. My father had died at the hands of a rival of his before my brother could be born. I don't know my grandparents or my grandfather's brother that well, I suppose I never met them."

So smooth. She could have fooled anyone, everyone, if she wanted. How long had the Light spent crafting her lies? Was Alastor Moody a part of it? That man was always a stickler for every detail. One learns to know their enemies well as a Death Eater. He could see constant vigilance branded into her mind without having to look. Not that he could look however. There was a shield around her mind that surprised him. She was well prepared.

"Ah, well, it seems you are very alone, aren't you?"

"No." Persephone glanced at the time, stood, and gathered her bags. "I have Severus now. Good day, Yaxley. Rodolphus, please tell your wife I said hello." She granted them a smile and walked off down the lane to the Leaky Cauldron.

* * *

**A/N: **Well, finally got this one done. The next one should be soon, if life doesn't throw me a curve ball. The next chapter will be the Christmas party and Draco gets a little curious, while Rodolphus snoops where he shouldn't. Hope you enjoyed this one! Please review! Tickle2Kill.


	23. Christmas

~*~Christmas~*~

Again Severus was at the school, though since school was officially out for the holidays, she wasn't sure why. He had said something about security and the statues that were littered about, but she hardly understood what that had to do with a nearly empty school. Persephone desperately hoped he would make it back in time for the party. She didn't think being alone would send the right message, neither did Narcissa who was already downstairs with her son.

The party favors she had gotten were sitting on her desk, glittering in the lamplight. It had been very expensive and she was glad Severus hadn't thought to ask for the change because there wasn't any. She removed one from the box and stared down at it in her hand. It was clear like glass, but frosted around the edges as though it had been sitting in ice. The golden liquid within it swirled and she wondered if it would work. She had bewitched them to respond to her wand alone and she contemplated their possibly evil and violent intent.

It had taken some thought, but ended up being very easy to follow through. The potion inside the small vials would bond to the person that touched it when she activated it and would soak into their skin. They wouldn't be able to tell because she ensured it would appear full despite being very empty. When she detonated the potion, it would target the brain, inducing a coma-like sleep that only time would heal. Part of her felt very vindicated in this. It was revenge as far as she was concerned on all those that had persecuted her. The other part of her knew she would feel incredibly guilty about this later, when she had time to remind herself that not all those people that were going to attend her party were criminals. But for the present she was going to go along with this course of action.

She was a soldier first, she had had no choice in that, and she would be the weapon.

Persephone put the party favor back in the box it had come from and made her way downstairs. Draco Malfoy was handsome, Persephone had decided, but something about him made her want to hit him. Perhaps it was his perpetual sneer or the way he kept glancing at her with a frown. Either way, she had promised Narcissa that she would help with the whole Astoria situation and she would not back out on that.

She was dressed in her cream-colored gown, and her hair was free around her shoulders. Her jewelry was sparse: a delicate gold necklace, gold drop earrings, and thin bangles on her wrists. Narcissa was wearing topaz robes that hugged her slim middle and her son wore plain black robes with ornate silver clasps at the neck and chest. The mother and son were seated in the dining hall, speaking quietly over tea.

Persephone joined them and Grepa brought her the guest list. As she looked it over, she sighed.

"Is your husband coming, Narcissa? He isn't marked on the list."

"No, unfortunately. He is very busy in Paris. Severus tells me he often visits the school to chat." The regal woman looked at her son through her lashes and sipped her tea.

"When will the Greengrasses arrive?" Persephone asked, avoiding looking at Draco. He cleared his throat and sat up straight.

"They should be here soon. Madam Charlotte assured me Astoria would be on her best behavior. The girl is strong and willful for an eligible pureblood girl, but so was I at that age. But I had Lucius to look forward to," Here she glanced sidelong at her son. "I wasn't going to let him slip through my fingers."

Persephone smiled. She liked this woman. At first, she had not, maybe because she was worried Severus was thinking of other women...but now, she was thankful the woman was around. She needed the steady hand and the subtle approach. Her tea tasted of lemon and cinnamon, which was a balm to her nervous heart. There would be so many people coming tonight and she could not look weak or foolish. It was both Severus' and her own reputation on the line. Besides, some of those present may have knowledge of those puzzle pieces she needed to find.

"Is Severus attending?" Narcissa had set her cup to the saucer and gave her full attention to the guest list Persephone had set down on the table.

"I am uncertain of that. He says he is very busy at the school. I do not want to burden him with this...it is quite frivolous an event. Even selfish of me." She delicately gulped her tea.

"Parties aren't selfish. And neither are you. This is a wonderful idea and a clever move on your part. Severus will simply miss out on a rather overdue good time. Now, come, I think the wards may have shifted." Narcissa stood and she followed her to the door.

A small peek out showed the Greengrasses and the Zabinis coming down the paved walkway. A pregnant woman had her arm looped about a man's, her face quite similar, if slightly plumper, to the woman on the other side of what must be Mister and Missus Greengrass. The young, straight-backed woman must be Astoria. For all her pride and beauty she seemed a little choked by the family surrounding her. Persephone felt a kinship with her and did not know why.

The Zabinis' were a different pair all together. A tall, beautiful witch in glowing red robes with her hair twisted into a manner resembling Medusa's tresses was chuckling with a man who could have been her date if his face, skin and smirk hadn't been a mere echo of hers. She knew most of the people by name, as Narcissa had ensured, so that she would not seem inept and lost in this new realm she was entering. A pureblood who didn't know pureblood families wasn't much of a draw for anyone, King's pet or not. She objected to that title, but word had spread from one source or another of the sovereign's interest in her. She hoped it did not give her guests a false and highly inaccurate portrait of her.

The door swung open wide with the air of pomp and circumstance and Narcissa thrust out her chest with pride, an entirely foreign look of cold assurance washing over her angelic features. Draco joined them without a word. It was Madam Charlotte that spoke first, her wrinkled lips parting with a slim grin as she took in their hosts. It was immediately obvious to Persephone that the woman, formerly stunning, was sizing her up like competition. Narcissa had warned her of something like this. Pureblood gossip was almost as deadly as the Dementor's Kiss. Sometimes it did its worst damage without more than a whisper. She plastered a gentle smile on her lips as the woman spoke.

"This better be worth my time, girl. I cancelled important meetings for this..." her old eyes roamed the foyer and the hall trussed up for the party, disdain captured her face. "party of yours. King's Pet or not, I didn't miss a dinner with Claudio Gallo da Cortale for nothing." Narcissa went to speak, but Persephone's indignation was on her and she rushed ahead.

"It is wonderful to meet you as well, Madam Charlotte. May I call you that?" She held out a hand and after a moment's hesitation, the woman took it. She held it firmly. "I have heard so much about you. Perhaps after refreshments you could tell me more about Mister Gallo. I'm very fond of his theory of knowledge versus youth; having met him I suppose you would know more than I." The woman eyed her quietly as she allowed Narcissa to step in to take her attention. "Mister Greengrass, I don't think we've ever met. Please, come in."

By the time she succeeded in all the introductions and guided them into the sitting room for tea and conversation before dinner, ten more people had come. Grepa and Uncto were darting in and out, but only a trained eye could catch the corner of their rags as they winked in with more tea or Firewhisky, keeping their throats well-oiled for all the news and updates, market predictions and scathing remarks about the muggle governmental proceedings. Persephone had to admit it was altogether boring conversation, but her guests seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Yaxley had come, grumpy and muttering about how long his day had been, but he took her hand gently and smiled what she believed was a bastard child of a grimace. He and a handful of husbands banded together around the Firewhisky to talk in grumbling voices, a Dark Mark flashing every once in awhile as one of them reached for a piece of fruit from the little plates set out. The women gobbled like turkeys over dresses, the most recent debacle in their community and the state of certain eligible men all across Great Britain. It was all so normal and high brow, yet Persephone couldn't feel any more removed than this very moment. She took shelter in empty topics she didn't really care about, hinting neatly when she could about the Lords of the kingdom.

Rodolphus Lestrange and his wife, Bellatrix, were Lord and Lady Viper. They had been granted a refurbished mansion and more guards than they could count. They lived off of a moor somewhere in Scotland, with eighteen house elves to do their bidding. They were not in attendance as of yet and their absence was sending a wave of knowing smirks her way. Was it a mark of a good party to have them present? Merlin, she hoped not. Bellatrix couldn't stand her as far as she knew and Rodolphus was too much of an annoyance to her. She didn't like his attitude towards those less fortunate and she also did not like his presumptions. It was better that they had not answered Narcissa's invitation.

Narcissa's husband Lucius was a Lord, but he didn't have a fancy title to go along with that. He was both admired and ridiculed in conversation. The wives kept their contempt below the surface by hiding it with praise for his many duties, the husbands just chuckled at his lack of progress in any of the many offices he held. They called him a marked man, since the King had seen fit to give him way more than one man could handle and they had all but made him a pariah. They avoided him in business as well as in personal matters. The whoring Lord Malfoy was the butt of each joke. Persephone could not find humor in any of it, especially since Narcissa's eyes told the tale of how she took the words of those around her. Draco occupied himself with a book. They spoke about Draco as well, but it was far more favorable. Of course, they also spoke of his punishments, which they say he had propositioned the King for. In place of his father, Draco would bear the ire of their King. They said the King granted Draco his request to bear his father's punishments because Draco had opened the doorway for the Slayer and the Viper, that his actions made it possible for Dumbledore and Potter to be vanquished in one fell swoop. Madam Charlotte commented that the King had a sort of soft spot for the Malfoy heir, even going so far as to say that he was valued and protected as one of the King's own blood. The rumor was that he was being tutored by the King himself.

Severus was a Lord, most called him Lord Slayer, since he had killed Dumbledore and paved the way for the takeover of Hogwarts which had directly influenced the end of the Light and the success of the King's reign. Though each one of them hated him, she could discern as much from their tones, they grudgingly touted him as an amazing wizard and highly intelligent. He was valued by the King above many others and that must have been the thorn in the men's sides as they sneered when they spoke of his talents and the King's penchant for having use of them. Being halfblood, as she had learned about Severus, also didn't aid their view of him. Each person present had come from a long line of purebloods, haughty ancestral ties that immediately, and without a single accomplishment to their name, put them high above everyone else. The fact that he had risen so quickly and done so much for the King with half of him being muggle and filthy was more of a humiliation to them than a boon.

Madam Charlotte laughed daintily at a comment Aurore Zabini made about her newest paramour and Persephone wandered over to the quiet Draco. She had more things to do than just giggle with the pureblood wives. Gently, she sat beside him offering a sweet she had taken from one of the platters. He took it with a glance.

"Don't tell me. My mother has asked you to talk to me about Astoria?" He sighed and flipped a page. "It would be a waste of time. I don't want to get married to her."

"Why?" Persephone didn't so much as frown at his words. She had expected as much when Narcissa had asked her to help. If his mother couldn't convince him, she wasn't sure what she could do, but she had promised to try.

"She's just like her sister and I've never liked Daphne. She and Pansy were too close." His face changed a little as he thought of his lost housemate. Persephone let the moment stand out of respect before she spoke. Narcissa had told her the sad tale so she would be prepared.

"Your mother tells me she's willful and that Daphne wasn't. They are much alike in looks, but I see little else in common between them. What is so wrong with her that she is ineligible in your eyes?"

"She's cold and fragile all at once. She appears strong, but Astoria is just as strong as glass. All I have to do is find the right stone." Draco set the book aside to take a drink from Uncto as he passed by. It looked like more tea. "My wife needs to be much stronger, perhaps even stronger than me. I am not what I was years ago. I would have flocked to her when I was still in school, would have made a fool of myself chasing after her through the halls...but that was from an age that surpasses history. It feels like a dream I lived once when I was little, but I have woken up."

"Are you so sure?"

"Since the King made his throne, I've seen her type a million times. I don't want to be married to that. Enough said."

"I see." Persephone stood, leaving Draco with a light pat on his shoulder. She didn't see him frowning at her over his steaming cup of tea. He seemed confused. The Parkinsons were chatting with Madam Charlotte as Aurore stepped between the men to have a glance at the fruit...and the interested.

"And I gave my nephew Francis the old broom his mother's uncle used to ride when he was still fit enough to play. He's been playing Quidditch ever since. Pansy loved to cheer him on." Mrs Parkinson smiled, but it was tight and cold. Her husband reached out for her hand and she lightly let him take it. Persephone slipped by them as Madam Charlotte nodded.

"I hear he's been traded to Puddlemere United."

"Yes, after Benjy's rather unfortunate accident, he was promoted to Seeker."

"Well, that's something."

Persephone left that conversation as quickly as she could. Astoria was lingering by the entrance to the kitchen, a curious look on her face. Persephone walked up to her with deliberately clicking steps to allow the woman to register her advance. It seemed proper not to scare her guests even if the thought of being light, nimble and silent was stronger than being polite. The woman gazed up at her with wide eyes.

"Would you like a tour of the manor?" she offered, watching the woman with interest.

"I...I would like that."

They began to walk down the hall, towards the parts of the house she knew Severus wouldn't mind guests. Astoria sighed heavily a couple of times before she spoke, gazing down the hall to the sounds of voices.

"You're Persephone, right? My mother says you and Draco are close. Why doesn't he come talk to me?" She didn't seem to want to beat around the proverbial bush. She looked honest enough and kind. Persephone smiled.

"I do not know you well, but I believe I know you better than he does. He has an image of you in his head, one which he does not equate to a wife. If you could dissuade him of that, I think he would be more willing to have you."

"And you don't want him?"

"I have Severus. He is all that I want."

"Not even the King?"

Persephone opened her mouth to answer, though she didn't know what to say, when the wards shifted yet again. Breaking their gaze, Persephone took a couple steps back.

"Someone is coming. Excuse me."

It felt awkward and uncomfortable walking away without defending herself from Astoria's question, but she hadn't even known how to answer. It was true that all she wanted was Severus...but in her heart, she knew she had to go for the King. She didn't know why, didn't want to know why and vehemently ignored and repelled that desire. It was unfounded, and horrible to Severus who didn't deserve that type of betrayal in the slightest. Her dance with the King still hovered in her mind like a dense fog and she shoved it away as best she could. It was hopeless to ponder over it anyway.

The door came up before her quicker than she expected and she took a deep breath to clear her mind and bring a welcoming smile onto her face. The door swung open quietly.

"Good evening. Dinner is almost ready." She gazed at her guest and stopped in her tracks. So he had decided to come.

"Miss Persephone. No Severus tonight? How rude of him." Rodolphus brushed past her to enter the house and she shut the door behind him with a snap. Persephone wondered if it would be proper to ask him to leave. Then again, she needed the good reputation and something about the Lestranges must bring that in spades because the moment Rodolphus stepped into the room with her other guests, a collective brightening took place. It was as though he had brought a torch into the room.

"Dolph!" Yaxley called, waving him over. "We thought Bella wouldn't come. Glad you could make it, though."

The pureblood man blended in with the husbands and Persephone hurried to resume her tour with Astoria. The woman was flipping through the small library with a focused stare. She nodded slightly as Persephone joined her.

"Who came?"

"Rodolphus Lestrange."

"The Viper let him attend your party?" She asked it as if Bellatrix was the law. Persephone frowned.

"Let him?"

"Oh, I forget that you haven't been part of the loop. Bellatrix is the Queen of their castle, so to speak, and there is no king. Aside from our King, of course. He's usually holed up in their manor doing business through owls or the Floo, as I've heard. My mother says they haven't got on well for years. It always comes down to the King. Everyone says so."

Persephone nodded, filing away all of that until later. The last thing she needed was to be contemplating the ins and outs of higher society while she had all these other things to worry over. And Rodolphus' relationship with his wife was very low on her list of concerns.

"Care to continue the tour?" she offered, waving her hand to the open hallway.

"Yes, please."

The two women wandered off down the hall, chatting about many happenings in the circle of importance. Finding out second-hand that Lucius Malfoy was whoring his way through Paris wasn't exactly her cup of tea, but she drank it all in anyway. Something could slip, some tidbit, some sign and she could have valuable information about the puzzle pieces she was so adamant, at least she felt so, to find.

Astoria kept the conversation fresh and interesting as they made their way down the hall to the downstairs parlor. The voices of the people behind them faded away.

* * *

He had a crick in his neck and a headache straight from the bowels of hell. Bellatrix had gone on and on about him having guests over, for telling her the King had no interest in spoiled goods and for the none too kind way he had left her that morning. Sometimes he imagined that he loved the wretch, other times he simply wished the King would allow him to finish the job the Dementors had begun. It would only be a flick of a wrist, a mutter...even less, and she would be gone from his life.

Rodolphus hated the part of him that cringed at his conviction to the thought. He hated it with every tattered piece of him. Maybe he could kill that part as well?

Yaxley, Rowle, Goyle and Amycus Carrow sat about him holding their Firewhiskys close, leaning into each other to impart this or that. He hated listening to them babble. All of them, even Yaxley he had to admit, were slow, dim-witted and lackluster in his opinion. None of them would give as he gave for the King, none of them would lay all they had at his feet. None of them believed as he did.

He hated the lot of them.

Since long before the Fall, when their sovereign had vanished from the earth and Dumbledore had risen up out of those ashes to send them to cells and plant a baby boy at the crown of their success as though an infant could wield enough magic to dispel their leader, he had fallen headlong into the utopia their Lord had presented.

Pureblood superiority, magic without limits, a freedom unseen since Slytherin himself aided the other founders in building Hogwarts. It was a legend come true. And no muggle could scare them back into the ground, they would not hide like cowards. The world was theirs, the power was theirs. They simply had to fight, had to sacrifice everything they were to reach out and grab hold of it. He had known the vision in his heart to be true. He had seen with his own eyes that the world could be made clean and free from the filth that clouded it. He had seen a world of pureblood making, under pureblood rule, in pureblood image. No longer would these noble houses, feared and revered in equal measure, have to linger in the shadows of the worthless, the weak...the muggle scum that choked the life from their glory and mingled in their gene pool.

Under their Lord's steady hand, they would thrive as they had been promised a millenia ago, before the weak-willed Three had cast out their ancestor. Salazar Slytherin's dream would shine again, would live again, and would succeed as it should have so long ago.

And before him sat the watered-down, pathetic excuses for lords that called themselves loyal. Loyal to what? To their greed? To their hunger? To the highest bidder? He loathed their words and their promises. It was all fake.

"Dolph, where is your lovely wife?" Rowle asked, eyeing him as though he were prey._ Funny_, Rodolphus thought, _how the feeble see themselves as strong_.

"Chasing after a pointless dream as she always is this time of year. Why, did she wonder after you, Rowle? Seems a pity you've yet to wed. If I could carve her out of the magic that binds us, I'd gladly let you have her. Would you like me to set it up?"

Yaxley chuckled and Rodolphus sighed. It infuriated him that he came, though he had to find some way of getting out of the house. Bella's whine as she tried to wrack her broken brain for a present fit for a King that wasn't wet and horrid like the swamp between her legs had pushed him over the edge. He could still hear her growling at the house elves that tried to appease her. His headache raged. The conversations around him continued to spiral outwards into fields he no longer cared for and his eyes wandered about the room.

Their hostess was notably absent and so was the youngest Greengrass. He needed the distraction.

"Excuse me, gentlemen." Rodolphus stood, weaved his way past the Parkinsons who, though bravely continuing on, had lost their only child in the Siege of Hogwarts. He didn't know whether to be sympathetic or sneering toward them. They had once been close. He did not grant them a glance as he passed them into the hallway. He could see the women wandering off down the hall and he followed, slowly and quietly. What could they be talking about?

"Mother tells me that he doesn't want me because of what I want to do with my life. She says no pureblood wife would want that."

"What do you want?" That voice was very much Persephone. He grew closer to them.

"To be something other than a housewife. When I was in school I nearly got the highest marks. Some mudblood girl from before the Siege beat me out." Astoria sighed. "I would like to have met her."

"Did you have a career in mind?"

"No, regrettably. But," They turned the corner and Rodolphus hurried forward. "There are countless things that I could do. The Minister has been employing new graduates from Hogwarts to send out to different countries for diplomacy. I can speak German and Italian, my mother has a summer house in Naples. Oh, the potions community has been alight since Master Carver started his apprenticeship program, which the Slayer funds rather religiously. I know it's a bit self-centered but I was wondering if the Slayer could observe my work. It would be highly validating if the Lord Slayer himself approved of me. But I could be anything if I put my mind to it. I just don't want to be tied down to a man that won't let me...be me."

The women stopped moving, turned to each other and Rodolphus came up short as quickly as he could. Persephone took Astoria by the hands and looked her dead in the eye.

"Draco is not that type of man. I promise you. Perhaps, well..." Persephone smiled. "You should write a letter explaining why you aren't any of the things he thinks you are. He'd appreciate the truth." Persephone nodded in encouragement and tugged Astoria back the way they had come. "I'll speak to Severus about your work. I'm sure he would be accommodating to a fledgling Master if you show enough skill."

"Really? Oh, thank you!"

Rodolphus looked about the hall, tried the door to his left and it was locked, tried the one on the right and slid in as it opened. Just as he held his breath, the two women walked past giggling.

Rodolphus stepped back, sighed, and took a moment to glance about the room. It seemed he had stumbled into an office. Everything was too perfect, as though it had never been touched. Slowly, he ventured further, eyeing the seemingly picturesque room. He pulled out the fancy chair and sat, reaching out his long arms to the corners and back. It was solid wood and hardly used, but not entirely undisturbed. He could tell immediately that one of the drawers had been opened and shut a few times. It was slightly open, only enough for one finger, but enough that he leaned down to search it curiously.

He had never had the opportunity to explore the Slayer's manor since that man had never been one to let others in willingly and certainly not any of his brethren. The one moment when Wormtail was foisted on him had disabused him of any fantasy that sharing with his comrades was a dream come true. Rodolphus thought much the same, though he would never tell a soul.

The drawer was sparse save for two things: extra parchment and a small bag. He looked about the room, assured himself that he was alone and extracted the bag first, setting it before him on the desk. It was light and cheap, very out of place in a stately manor. A wave of his wand revealed that it was harmless, so he opened it and tipped it out. The clatter of wood against wood met his ears and he glanced down at the broken remains of a vine wand, connected only by a thin unicorn hair.

"Why do you have a broken wand?" he whispered aloud to the air, pondering Severus' motives.

The only wand that could have such a lively unicorn hair after being broken would be a recent one and unless the Slayer collected broken wands, this one had to have been from the thievery. He held it to the light, as dim as it was, and took in every detail. It was unnecessarily decorated and unique, had been well cared for before it was snapped and had to have been used often as the grip and tip were worn. Rodolphus heard footsteps in the hall and scooped the wand back into its little bag. He pulled his own wand and pointed it at the bag.

"_Geminio_!" He whispered, taking the replicant in hand as he shoved the real one in his pocket.

As he went to replace the fake one in its drawer he saw the edge of a folded piece of paper. Despite all his instincts warning him to simply go back to the group, he filched the paper and set the fake wand in its place. He shut the drawer with a curt snap. Barely a second later, Persephone stuck her head in the room and met his eyes.

"You aren't supposed to be in here. These rooms are off-limits."

Rodolphus smiled. "Right. I was just leaving."

He hurried back to the rest of the guests, the little liar trailing behind him, and slipped his hand into his pocket. That folded note and cheap bag brushed against his fingers and he smirked to himself. He slowed his pace enough that Persephone could overtake him and lead the way into the dining room.

"Where is your wife, if I may ask?" She questioned, barely glancing his direction.

"Looking for a present."

"Oh, for you?" She seemed abhorred by the idea of what would constitute as a gift for him.

"No. The King. His birthday is a momentous occasion for her."

"The King's birthday!" There was surprise on her face; he relished in it.

"Didn't you know? The New Year isn't the same without it."

She bit her lip before muttering, "Thank you for telling me."

"I didn't do it for you." He clarified, smirking at her. She returned it with a hint of disgust.

"I hope dinner is to your liking." she said somewhat politely.

"I am sure it will be." Rodolphus grinned at her and delighted in the annoyance he read in her stance. His headache was gone.

* * *

Dinner was as any society gathering allowed them to be. Stifled, plain and all-together boring. Aurore Zabini went on and on about her son's new occupation as a bureaucrat. Nearly every one of them that Persephone had met were the basest of human life and without a shred of willingness to protect even that little of it. She smiled, despite her thoughts and congratulated her guest on his promotion.

The news of the King's birthday weighed on her mind as she entertained her guests. What could one get a man that had a world at his feet and an army with a crook of a finger? She hadn't been one for treasure or Galleons in her life; they proved too often to be the cruelest downfall of man. But the King, regardless of his gaudy throne and pompous thinking, seemed a man of intelligence and innovation. Persephone had to admit to herself that his preoccupation with blood weakened his genius, but there was so much potential behind the madness.

The night stretched onward and Severus did not appear. Somewhere around ten, Persephone had given up on him coming. It seemed her quests had forgotten he existed and the older ones were beginning to snooze in their comfy chairs. All good parties knew when to end, so Persephone stood and gathered their attention.

"It has been a wonderful evening and I thank you for attending when you could have been anywhere else. For a show of my thanks, I give you these." She waved her hand and the elves rushed in with platters held aloft above their heads, each one laden with a set of small boxes. Her guests reached out to get them, an eager look on their faces. She noted exactly who didn't open them and hold the vial in their palms. Rodolphus Lestrange being the key one.

"Within each one of those vials is a dose of Felix Felicis! May fortune favor you always." Smiling at the looks of joy and surprise on her guests' faces and at the exclamations her gifts produced, Persephone flicked her wand in an intricate pattern behind her thigh. The jolt through her fingers told her the spell had taken. She glanced at Narcissa and Draco, the latter of which was gazing at Astoria. Persephone had been particular in who had the false Felix Felicis and who had the true one. Her friends, the Malfoys, and the Greengrass daughters were exempt from the time bomb of her carefully placed potion. Death Eater or no, she would not harm a pregnant woman and Astoria would have a hard time marrying Draco in a coma-like slumber.

With their fancy gifts and full up with dinner, her guests left in high spirits, shaking her hand and hinting heavily that they would send her invitations to their own upcoming events.

"That went much better than I expected." She whispered to herself.

* * *

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this one. Please review! I was on the fence about a lot of things in this one, but I've gone through it a billion times, so if there is something missing I'll just have to put it in another chapter. I was very, very, tempted to put "And may the odds be ever in your favor." up there, but decided against it at the last minute. If I start adding fandom easter eggs it will become a whole other job and I am not up for that. As fun as it would undoubtedly be to ask if anyone can spot the fandom in each chapter. But, I'm scatterbrained enough as it is, so...Next one should have a whole bunch of movement and setup for future chapters, so get ready. Much love, Tickle2Kill.


	24. A Spider's Gift

~*~A Spider's Gift~*~

It was quite the burden knowing the Dark Lord was waiting for you down the road with a prize in one hand and a noose in the other. Not that it was something new for Rodolphus, but it was an effective incentive for him not to fail. He knew well the cost of failure.

Back in the old days, when the Dark Lord was stronger it seemed than even Albus Dumbledore himself, failure was an assurance of at the least a Cruciatus and at most an all-expense paid trip to the grave. It took the slower members some of the worst punishments to realize their place. Rodolphus had thankfully been one of the quicker ones.

His father was a stern man that didn't accept less than the best out of any of his children and the best happened to be joining his old school friend's exclusive group of talented wizards and witches. The Knights, as they were called back then, appeared to most ambitious Hogwarts students as the next step in securing their prosperous future.

His future had been as clear to him as a cloudless sky. He would go on to the Ministry like his father after graduation, charm himself a profitable job and then woo his darling girlfriend into a ring. He would have kids and money and status and he would rule the world.

Nowadays that just made him scoff. What a little fool he had been.

The sun was shining like a beacon through the overcast clouds on the unkempt garden outside a large apartment complex in a neighborhood made up of office buildings and parking garages. It had been slightly warmer lately and had melted the meager portions of ice that coated the ground. His boots couldn't find purchase on the sloshy ground, but he was tall and nimble; he managed.

A man named Oberan Damasca, the second son of Caurini, was scheduled to meet one of Rodolphus' many contacts in a third floor corner apartment at noon and he had asked his friend to kindly miss this appointment. A purse of Galleons and the man conceded that he might be having a chat with a nice Turkish girl and conveniently forget the time.

It had taken a lot of skill and quite a few strings, but he had managed to weasel out the whereabouts of the last surviving male of the Damasca family. Kestrel's older cousin and the sole owner of the estates, or what was left of them, Oberan was a busy man. He had a wife in London, a mistress in Glasgow and a slew of little pretties in between. He also ran a small company out of his muggle-infested apartment complex.

He was perhaps the only man alive that could tell him anything of use about the mysterious Persephone. Oberan's young cousin was fast becoming a nuisance to him. That and he had only two more days before the Dark King would come for his head.

The door to the complex was opened with a muggle code box that glowed beneath his gloved hand. Rodolphus frowned at the 'technology' of the muggles and gave half a thought to blasting the door open and barging in, but his contact had been very specific about his instructions. So Rodolphus took a breath and pressed in the code: 6-7-3-6-7-3-7-2-6-3.

With an obtrusive buzz, the door clicked and he pulled it open quickly. As soon as he closed it, the damned thing clicked back into a locked position. Another buzzing, almost whirring sound echoed throughout the foyer of the building and the wizard cast his eyes about for the source. Up above his head was a white contraption hooked into the wall, in a corner. Its shiny black 'eye', for lack of a better word, gazing directly at him. He sneered at it and continued onward.

All of these noisy creature-like objects littering the room...they didn't even have the decency to cover them up, just left them out for all to see. Had the muggles lost all sense of secrecy?

The concrete steps that were covered in some shiny substance spotted with flecks of dark...dust?...stood before him and he had to take them with a deliberate gait to make it to the top without a sound. His boots were trying to thump every time he took a step.

Up ahead, guarded by two equally shiny metal doors was what his contact had called 'Elli-gators' or Lifts. They seemed to be a common occurrence in modern muggle buildings. He hadn't had much need, or desire, to learn of muggle contraptions before he was thrown into Azkaban and was amazingly ignorant of what the filthy creatures had been able to do. Their need for flashy lights, loud vehicles and elli-gators, never ceased to sicken him. Where was the subtlety? And the Ministry had taken to the muggle contraptions, even adding one of those elli-gators to the building. He hadn't had to be bothered to ride on one as it wasn't the only way to travel through the Ministry halls. He preferred the old way. He always had preferred the old way.

Rodolphus pressed the up arrow, crossed his arms in front of his dark blue clad chest and tapped his boot heel. If this had been done like a proper wizard he would already be talking to his quarry. Instead he was made to wait, like the common folk, for the poor man's machines.

With a ding, the metal box that was about to lift him up to the third floor was presented to him from behind the metal doors. He tentatively stepped inside and pressed the black number three on the second glowing panel of his day. The doors closed on him and for half of a heartbeat, he had his last meal in his throat. Then, just as suddenly, the thing opened the doors and he staggered out.

Why was this a normal machine for a muggle? It was a sickening death trap! Rodolphus waited until the thing had closed, and he could hear it drifting back downstairs, to begin his trek down the long hall.

He was going to murder this man. He was going to torture the life right out of him. So set in his decision, Rodolphus brandished his wand as he approached the corner apartment. The door was firmly closed, but he lifted his fist and tapped out the beat that would tell Oberan to let him in. The lock clicked just as Rodolphus lowered his arm and he stepped inside.

* * *

Persephone sat in the small library down the hall from her room and stared down at a book on enchanting items. She had contemplated using a necklace or a ring, a bracelet or a pin, but nothing seemed to shout out to her as a King's gift. He had a castle, he had a throne, he had his army and he had his banner. He was one of the most powerful men in the world, as far as they knew. What could he possibly be willing to accept as a gift?

"Miss should eat." At her elbow, with a platter of delicate china with hot tea and small biscuits, was Grepa. Persephone set down her quill and smiled.

"You did marvelously at the party last night. I would like to thank you and Uncto and the twins for all your hard work. I could not have done it by myself." The elves had vanished the minute the party was over and when she had come back downstairs the next morning, she had seen that they had also cleaned the entire area. It looked just as it had before the party. Severus would have been happy with it she was sure, but she had yet to see him. It would be a lie to say she wasn't angry with him.

"We did what we know. Miss is kind to think it special." The elf bowed and held out the platter. It reminded Persephone of the platters that carried the favors and she hurried to make space on the rather large desk.

"Do you know if Severus is home?"

"Master is brewing. He should not be disturbed." The tea was set out and a cup poured for her from the pot, a cube of sugar fell into the liquid gently and the spoon stirred by itself.

"Of course. Thank you, Grepa."

The elf vanished without more than a pop. Persephone resumed her work. The book laid out before her went on and on about different ways to enchant things and what they could be used for in both beauty and tactical arenas. She focused more on the tactical. The King would need something useful and unassuming. Or maybe he needed something useful and loud, like the throne he had sat on or the propaganda littering the walls around Diagon Alley. Though intelligent and dark, the King seemed to want the attention and the noise that came with a statement.

_What would a King want?_, she asked herself.

Since she hadn't known a King until this one, she changed her research field. Turning toward history, Persephone looked instead to what kings were known to want. Garments from far off lands, spices and exotic plants or foods, gold and silver, animals of rare value, women of special talents, men of both special talents and great battle prowess, weapons of great power or mystique, books from a forgotten age, magical amulets meant to protect the King from sickness, bits of land or great villas, the list of things went on forever. She had none of these things.

For a pureblood from a relatively known family, she had very little of her own riches or power. Her clothing was a gift from Severus and she could not recall anything in her closet that she had gotten herself. Her wand was good, but she knew deep down that it was her second and it was far less compatible. It was a spare. She had no money, so little in fact, that she had been unable to find even a pair of knuts to rub together. Her image was borrowed, given to her by men or by Narcissa. She couldn't remember the last time she had brewed a potion or learned a new spell. Her room was sparse and had no trinkets, no pictures of family or friends or events in her life. It was as though she was made yesterday and had nothing to prove that she was, in fact, human.

What did she have to offer a King?

Persephone abandoned her desk and its knowledge, opting instead for her room. She dug through her clothing until, buried at the very back as though to hide it, she found a jacket, jeans, a t-shirt and trainers. When she was dressed warmly enough and had her hair bound behind her head with a tie, she made her way downstairs.

The one thing she could say she did have, despite being very poor, very alone and very isolated it seemed, was her health. So she went for a run.

The landscape around Severus' manor was sloping and covered with a light snow and ice, but down towards the trees that surrounded the property there was a trail with fresh gravel. Persephone found herself on it, running at a steady pace, feeling like a part of her was waking up. It had been far too long since she had just run, since she had just focused on her body and the way her muscles flexed as she sprinted, the urge she felt along her arm to pull her wand so she could strike if even a worm moved beneath her toes.

Everything felt real suddenly, like she was finally alive again. Like she was herself. She didn't think of the King, she didn't think of Severus, she didn't think of the eyes in her dreams, she didn't think of her family. For one beautiful moment, her mind was empty of all responsibility and all stress. For one little space of time, as she ran along the path that circled Severus's manor, she was simply herself.

As she rounded the grounds, making for the front, footsteps echoed out behind her. Spinning around mid-step, she kept her mouth closed and her mind shielded, lashing out with a wordless spell. First_ Petrificus Totalus_, then _Sectumsempra_, followed by a modified _Protego_ just in case her attacks missed. The white light of her second curse still illuminated the area when she saw who it was.

Severus stood slightly sideways, his wand in front of him and a shield up. His hair was wild on his head and two burning spot behind him showed how narrowly he had avoided her offensive measures. She dropped her shield hastily, an apology on her tongue.

"Oh, Severus!"

"Are you insane?!"

"You caught me off-guard. I'm so sorry."

"Off-guard? That was off-guard?" He let out a breath, lowering his shield, and stepping nearer. "Heavens forbid, I startle you when you're on. Why are you out here?"

"I was running." Her heart was still beating quickly and she took a deep breath.

"Last time I found you outside, you were reading a book in below freezing temperatures. I tend to be a little worried when you have the desire to be outside."

Persephone barely remembered what he was talking about, but she nodded. "I thought you were brewing?"

"It has to sit for six hours." He deflated, hiding his wand away. She stuck hers in her pocket. "Come inside?"

"Why didn't you attend the party?" She asked, remembering why it was that she had been angry at him in the first place last night.

"The school needed me. The world needs me. A party for a hoard of people I hate does not take precedence."

"What have you been doing that is so important?"

"Aside from ensuring the school is prepared in case we need it like we did when the King took over? I've been tracking down the location of every Death Eater in the King's employ. Names, addresses, contacts, aliases, whatever will help the light. Hogwarts is out for another two weeks, I need to use this time for my sworn duty."

"What do you think I'm doing? I don't have access to the Ministry records, I don't have connections, I don't have anything. The only thing I have is what the public allows me to have."

"You have much more than that. You have the King." There was a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

"But I don't want the King, I want you."

"And maybe that is the biggest problem with your programming. He made you want the one thing most detrimental to his own plan. I thought about this while I was sifting through mountains of paperwork. If you are to do what he wants of you, then you should stop trying to keep me. I don't want you. I don't need you. I want you to do what needs to be done. And I don't need to get in the way of that."

A part of her was breaking and she stopped her tears by biting her tongue. Persephone stepped back, her face hardening and Severus' face did the same.

"How long have you been waiting to say that?" she muttered, eyeing him as though he were some alien creature in place of a person she thought she knew.

He came close to her and she stood her ground. His lips were warm against her ear.

"How long have you been living under my roof?"

A tear worked its way past her eyelids and she shoved him away. She ran away from him, towards the front door, tasting blood in her mouth because of how hard she was biting her tongue. From behind her, she heard Severus call out.

"Every king needs a queen, do they not?"

As she rushed inside, her mind racing even as her chest felt hollow, she shook her head._ No_, she thought, _every king needs a crown_.

* * *

Oberan Damasca was about five foot three, a portly gentleman with a meticulously groomed mustache that was long enough to braid on either side of his mouth and a short beard that was indeed braided. The hair atop his head had ran away from his crown and he covered the bald spot there with a black scarf that he used like one of those desert-dwellers Rodolphus had seen peddling carpets before the laws had done away with them. His clothing was a combination of urban muggle wear and refined wizard robes tailored to allow maximum movement. He had the look of a man ready to run for the hills, or fight to the death for them.

Rodolphus crossed the small space between the door and the sitting area, tucking his wand behind his thigh as he approached the smoking man. The scent wafting out of the long pipe Oberan used was both sharply sweet and slightly dizzying. Rodolphus held out his hand.

"Mister Damasca."

The man, whose eyes he hadn't realized were closed, shook his head. "What do you need?"

"What?" Rodolphus watched Oberan with the utmost suspicion.

"You must have paid Noah a fortune to take his place. A man that desperate for my services needs something, he doesn't just want it." Oberan's eyes were a brilliant light green when he opened them. They made his slightly tan skin look exotic. "So, I repeat, what do you need?"

"Information on someone."

"Oh, that's simple. Anyone short of the King is fair game."

"So you can tell me about Penelope Damasca?"

Oberan laughed. "She's not going to help you with anything, boy."

"I want the information, whether or not you want to give it."

"Are you threatening me?" Rodolphus bristled at the complete lack of fear on the man's face. Instead, the man wore an amused smirk. "You don't know much about me if you are."

"I don't care about you, I want to know about Penelope."

"What are you willing to pay?"

"What are you asking?"

"Let me take one thing from your vaults at Gringotts."

"How do you know that I don't have an empty vault?"

"Lestrange's only have empty hearts, everything else is quite full."

"Did Noah tell you I was coming?"

"He didn't have to. Your face was all over the newspapers, both when you went in and when you broke out. I know all the important people in the world. The moment you walked up to this building, I knew who you were." Oberan pointed to a set of rather large screens on the wall. The doorway with the first keypad, the foyer, the elevator and the hallway outside this room were all visible. He waved his pipe and the images seemed to flow in reverse until Rodolphus watched himself walk backwards into the screen.

He watched this with fascination. He had seen a lot of spiders in his day, had even been one himself before he was put away, but this was beyond anything he had experienced. What was worse was that it was all possible with muggle technology. He tried to ignore the sickening rage building up behind his eyes.

"If I let you take something from my vaults, it must be a singular object. If you take a galleon, you take a single galleon." Bella would be furious that he was agreeing to something like this, but he was willing to pay anything to not disappoint the King.

"Of course. Now, what is so interesting about my cousin?"

"Tell me everything you know about her."

"That is a long story. Have you got the time?"

"Finish the story in one afternoon and you can have two things. One from my part of the vault and one from my wife's."

He actually liked the idea of that now. Oberan held out his hand and Rodolphus shook it.

"Where to begin?" He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Penelope was the first child of my sister's to survive gestation. Kestrel lost her first child at the age of fifteen because my uncle wouldn't have a whore for a daughter. He himself was unable to produce a son and so he was very harsh on Kestrel, despite her best efforts to be useful. About a year or so later, she got herself betrothed to Enoch Rosenfell, a pureblood with enough clout to rescue her from under Abidan's thumb. They wed when they graduated and Kestrel began a long line of death. She had seven miscarriages before Penelope came along and Icarys was a fun surprise. Right before the time Penelope was born, Abidan had succumbed to his old age and Kestrel inherited her father's estate. Enoch took control of it, naturally, until he mixed with your lot and made of himself a fine target for the Aurors. He was killed by Alastor Moody in that raid after the first fall of the King. Penelope was two, and Icarys was but a seed in an egg. Kestrel changed her name back to Damasca to avoid connection with Enoch and faded off as many of us did during that time. You wouldn't know much about that in your cosy little cell, but there was a scourge the likes of which I'd never seen before once the King vanished. I didn't want to be arrested, so I made myself useful like any smart man. They needed information and I gave it to them."

"You ratted us out?" Rodolphus was about a sentence away from killing Oberan just to satisfy himself. He hated traitors.

"I ratted everyone out to everyone. I told your people where to hide, I told the Aurors how to find you, and I gave you the heads up before they could get there. Some of you had the skills to escape, the rest of you are better off beneath a Dementor's shadow. It was the aftermath of war. Do not presume to mount a high horse and tell me you had a better way to survive. You were in Azkaban. You failed."

Rodolphus grit his teeth, and was surprised he had the strength to withhold casting a curse until he knew all he needed.

"Penelope."

"She grew up. Sick and weak and gentle, but alive. She had a sickness that became worse as she aged, it turned her bones to glass and she could break a finger by pointing it at the wind. Icarys was susceptible to almost any illness and Kestrel kept them separate on most occasions so they wouldn't infect one another. But, regardless of their shortcomings, both of them were very bright. Neither were allowed to attend Hogwarts as Kestrel feared for their lives, so Penelope was entirely home-taught. She attempted to wed her to any eligible pureblood that would look twice at them, even courting the Malfoy's for a profitable betrothal, but because she didn't want them to back out on appearances, no one ever met Penelope face to face."

"But you did?"

"Of course. Kestrel called on me to help her organize their futures. I worked with the families to ensure a solid coupling, but Kestrel passed before I could make good on one. She asked that I send Icarys to Hogwarts and I did. He would have done well if he hadn't fallen."

"What does Penelope look like?"

"Taller than me, thinner too. Delicate, pale, green-eyed, brown-haired. She was kind and patient, amazingly strong in spite of her physical weakness. She wanted to take care of people, since she couldn't take care of herself. She was a special child."

"You speak as though she is gone."

"That is because she is. Penelope died two years ago. She tried to walk to the Floo to call on me and fell down the stairs. We didn't find her until the next week. I was away in Glasgow."

"Was your mistress worth it?"

Oberan chuckled. "Not in the slightest. But there was little I could do about it by that point. Icarys had his accident very soon after that."

"Do you have proof that Penelope is dead?"

"What..." Oberan paused, setting his pipe down on his knee. "What do you need this information for? She is dead, buried, and no use to anyone. Have you become so less than human in your captivity that you cannot even let the dead rest?"

"It is by the King's order that I sought you out and by the King's order that you are obliged to tell me all that you know. The only reason I have not cursed the truth from you is out of courtesy. Do not presume to question me. I am a Lord in the King's court and I could destroy you."

"No." Oberan stood, eyeing Rodolphus as though he were an insect who did not know the way out an open window. "I've survived two wars, countless Death Eaters, Aurors and anything in between. I've got webs that spread from here to Australia. I am a ghost in a world of the dead and I could have killed you the moment you touched that keypad outside."

As though to demonstrate, a jittery man stepped up to punch in the number and Oberan flicked his pipe in an intricate pattern. Immediately, like a flash of sunlight in his eye, the screen turned bright white and the man at the door crumpled to the ground. A second later, he was dust and a rogue wind scattered his remains, leaving nothing on the smooth pavement.

"Now," Oberan said, stuffing his pipe and lighting it with a tap of his pinky. "When I ask you a question, you answer."

Rodolphus, furious and ever so slightly fearful, cleared his throat.

"A woman, named Persephone Damasca, who fits your description perfectly, was introduced to court at the Yule Ball. She was on the arm of Severus Snape. I have suspicions that she is a fraud. The King is enamored with her and gave me the task of finding out about her. This search led me to you and from what you have told me, I am right. She is a fraud."

"Is it so easy to fool the King these days? Were this two decades ago, he would not have had to send you. What has he become?" Oberan asked himself and eyed Rodolphus. "If I give you the location of her tomb, you will escort me to you and your wife's vault to extract my two things?"

"Yes."

"At the estate where you looked first, there is a secret door to the tombs beneath the east wing. It is enchanted to open only with the blood of a Damasca. Here," Oberan pricked his finger with a spell and poured three drops in a tiny vial he had conjured. The wound healed itself a moment later. "Take me to retrieve my prize and you shall have yours."

Rodolphus sheathed his wand and spun, leading the way out of the apartment. He heard Oberan following behind him. They Apparated from the exact spot that jittery man used to be. There was a faint hint of smoke in the air.

* * *

The streets were crowded and Lucius was far too drunk to be civil anymore. He could recall vaguely that he shoved his way through a throng of babbling Parisians after exiting the side door to the Minister's office. Ariel Boudin had spoken to him for all of five minutes, then promptly had his secretary show him the door. The Dark King was going to kill him.

Draco had come by yesterday to tell him about Severus' new love and her Christmas party. At the time, he had been so interested in the guest list and how she handled them all. Now, all he wanted was to go home.

Boudin was absolutely refusing to help the Dark King with his rule. He refused to work with the King-controlled ministry and he was not the only one. There had been a hoard of ministers who would not recognize Pius Thicknesse as one of their own and business had all but halted in the past couple of years. Lucius had been handed the task of winning back France, on top of being head of the Muggle Registry Commission and the Department of International Magical Cooperation. He was asleep on his feet most days and drunk most nights.

He hadn't been able to rest since being given this task and yet he knew that if he did not succeed, he would be killed. The King had made it very clear that failure was death, plain and simple. Draco had asked him to keep trying anyway, that his father would never quit. He was trying desperately to live up to that.

The place he was staying at was a little flat he used for business and sometimes just to get away. It had been far too full lately with women he did not truly desire, but for a little while he could pretend. Lucius made his way to the fireplace and threw in a handful of powder. The fire blazed green and he stumbled in, sobering enough to clearly say his destination.

He spewed his last meal on the rug when he stepped out of the fire and someone else's wand cleared it away before a smell could form. He felt a cleansing spell hit his face and his mouth tasted of peppermint. Lucius groped the air until he found a smooth shoulder and pulled the body into his, holding it to him like a shield from the world.

"Kill me, Narcissa, before he can get a hand on me." He whispered into her hair and he felt the tight grip of her thin fingers on his neck. It felt like he was being reprimanded without a word. He burrowed into her neck and hid his face.

"I will kill you if you come home drunk again. Do you think self-pity is going to save you?" Her voice was stern, but never got louder than a gentle breath.

"Maybe it will."

"Enough!" She harshly whispered and he flinched. She pulled his face from her neck and held it up so she could look into his eyes. He found it hard to look back and even harder to look away.

"Why won't you let me give up?"

"Because I love you."

"But I am so tired of fighting him."

"You should be tired of letting him win. I am."

"There is no hope for me."

"So long as I live, Lucius Malfoy, you will not say that again. Am I understood?"

"Yes, wife."

"You are going to come to bed. You are going to wake up in the morning to a new day and you will return to France. You are going to talk to Ariel Boudin for five minutes and you are going to try again the day after that. You are going to try until he caves. Am I understood?"

"Yes, my love."

Her face grew gentle and he glanced at her long blond hair which was loose about her head. His fingers weaved into the strands and she leaned into his touch. Her voice split the silence that had encompassed their embrace.

"I am going to speak to Severus tomorrow. Have faith that he will be able to help you."

"Will he be able?"

"We shall see. Malfoy's never give in." Those words were like a prayer now. She pressed a kiss to his lips and he felt like crying. Without Narcissa he would have fallen a long time ago. Whenever he felt near the end, whenever the King narrowed his eye at him, he would run home like a whimpering child and throw himself into her arms. She believed in him and she trusted him and she stood beside him, no matter what anyone said about them. Lucius loved her with his entire heart and soul and mourned the fact that they had never once made it clear if the feeling was mutual. He couldn't stomach the thought that it might not be.

"Never give in." He muttered, squeezing her closer.

"Now come to bed." He let her lead him to their bedroom and before he could take off his outer robe, he was fast asleep.

* * *

Alastor Moody stood silent on a hill in a very rural part of abandoned mill town. It was dark and quiet, but he knew out in the trees Kingsley and at least six others waited. It had been a long time since he'd used this place to do business and he wasn't at all comfortable coming back to do so.

Years ago, they had had little choice due to the nature of Death Eaters and their habits. Once the Dark Lord fell for the first time, amongst the celebrations there had been utter chaos. The Auror Department hadn't slept in weeks between attempting to curb the use of magic around muggles and wrangling up what Death Eaters they could while surprise was on their side. Alastor had resorted to many things to catch the bad guy...and he regretted each one to this day.

The air shifted and then a crack sounded. He did not need to look to know that Kingsley had ordered the group to ready arms. Standing before him, with a cold smirk on his face, was a small fellow with rather interesting clothing and a pipe hooked in his belt.

"Oberan." Alastor said, nodding politely.

"Don't even begin to be courteous." Oberan crossed his arms. "You had no right to use her."

"It would have led to you eventually. This victory has lasted four years for him, and four years for you, too. But that time is at an end. You cannot sit idle while good men decide the fate of the world. I had to do something."

"You had no right!" He yelped and his face gave a brief glimpse of the pain behind his exclamation before he smirked coldly again.

"Do you have it?"

"This?" Oberan held out an ornate golden cup. It was clear from just a glance that it was exactly the image he had seen in Hermione's head. The short man hid it away again. "I sent him off, you know, that Rodolphus Lestrange. I sent him off to her tomb. I hope he finds what he's looking for."

"Is she there, Oberan?"

"No...she's buried with her brother at my cottage by the ocean. Like she should be. Your ginger messenger found the estate before Lestrange, if you can believe it. He told me an interesting story about this cup. I hope it's true." Oberan sighed, eyeing Alastor through glossy eyes, and held out the cup again. "Take this damn thing and be rid of it."

Alastor took it and tucked it away in his robes. "You have always been good, my friend, if a little misguided. It was only because of her kindness that I used her. She was born surrounded by death, lived in it and was pure despite it. Only she could have won the King. Only Penelope could have claimed his heart. But she was dead and I needed her..." Alastor laid a hand on Oberan's shoulder. "I'm sorry for not telling you first."

The short man nodded, his smirk gone. "At least this time, I can say I did the right thing. She would be proud of me."

"Yes, she would. Take care, my friend, in the coming months. We are going to ruin your peace."

"Just like the good old days. Farewell for now, Alastor."

"Farewell."

Oberan spun on the spot and was gone.

"Can we trust him?" Kingsley asked as he manifested out of the space behind him and Alastor thought on it.

"For now. So long as we stand a chance and the King is not beating on his door, he will side with us."

"And if any of that changes?"

"Then he will run and I will chase him." Alastor signaled for them to leave and as one, they Apparated away.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm proud of myself. I went through this chapter and got it finished in two days. I think the anticipation of being able to actually write the chapters and not just edit them is making me jittery. I'm about a chapter or two away from finishing the pre-written ones and that means I get to go back to what I love the most, which is writing what strikes me when it strikes me. Editing has been fun, but nothing beats just flat out writing. I've got most of the rest of the story planned out, so no one should be worried and I reread and rehash everything before I post a new chapter so that it flows. I used to not do that and the work would suffer for it, so I hope you all can bear with me for this. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and please remember to review to let me know! The next installment should be a Severus POV to explain his epiphany and what he was really thinking during the above scene, Narcissa seeks Severus' help, Rodolphus investigates his leads and reports in, and Rabastan and Rodolphus come up with a plan that's close to home. I'm excited! Tickle2Kill.


	25. Allies and Brothers

~*~Allies and Brothers~*~

He'd left Persephone with some half-truth of an excuse before anyone but the Malfoys could arrive. People in his home, it had never been a concept he was ready to willingly accept. Death Eaters in his home, well, that was simply rejected at conception. After Wormtail, Severus had lost all fantasies of having his brethren as guests. He didn't attend parties unless he was ordered to and did not host them. His secrecy and privacy was of great importance to him and had always been. Letting Persephone sleep in his bed had been a brief moment of madness.

Severus admitted to himself that he had taken to Hermione far too quickly. And though he was at first wary of Persephone, she found ways to tempt him out of his shielding. When he put thought into why, it always came down to one thing.

_Emerald eyes_.

Despite his best efforts, Severus kept falling for them. Over the years, those eyes had been many things to him, but they had one thing in common. Those eyes meant loss. Lily had had those eyes and he had lost her. The boy had had those eyes and he had lost him when he was meant to help him. Now comes Hermione in this guise of Persephone, with those eyes. Those eyes fashioned after the boy's which were a mere reflection of his mother's. He could feel the tendrils of time winding themselves around him again, trying with all their worth to repeat his broken history.

To deny himself the time to think of it, he pondered Persephone's new developments.

She hadn't complained about any pain in her head in a week or so and familiar things to Hermione didn't trigger as much confusion. It was almost as though she was settling into her altered memory. He wondered if Hermione realized fighting it made it worse and decided instead to go with the flow. In Severus' reasoning, Hermione was a dormant part of Persephone's mind. He saw the pain as Hermione pushing against the magic that kept her down and eliciting a backlash that translated as a headache. It gave him hope that she was in there somewhere. Alive and whole, despite this horrid world and its deceptions.

His greatest fear was still that the upcoming battles would take her from him. Severus had endured one loss too many over the course of his life and the thought of Lily still ached around heart. He had dwelled for four whole years on all that he had had, lost or thrown away. He had blamed himself for everything when he wasn't laying blame on dead men.

Those four years had been so dark for him. He had had nothing to cling to and no allies, aside from the Malfoys, that he trusted or that trusted him. He had served the King and had given himself over to the lure of the darkness of the King's rule. Severus had relished in the killings and the thoughtless obedience because he didn't have to feel anything as that man. He could be a destroyer and it would help him bury himself so that he could be dead as the Light was. He wanted to die like they had, wanted to close his eyes and never wake again. There was no point to life and his meant less than nothing in the end. Severus had hoped someone would do him in, if just to spare him the humiliation of admitting he was incapable of doing it himself.

But then a woman in a red shirt happened to fall into his life.

He had never really known that the transition from lack of feeling to an overabundance could feel like regaining warmth in frozen limbs. At first you welcome the heat, thinking yourself saved, then the unbearable agony begins and you know you have to endure it, but the prospect of running back to numbness seems a mercy. It had felt the same in his heart. At first he was so happy, so present for the first time in four years, and then the emotion he was once too despondent to feel came over him in a wave of daggers.

If it weren't for Hermione he would have sought the merciful numbness again. She had saved him from himself and his depression. She was his savior and he felt bound by gratitude and newfound emotion to try his best for her. But she was so receptive as Persephone where Lily had not been, she was so willing and available in ways Lily had never been.

It had taken him twenty years to realize she was never his to covet. There was something he now understood about James and Lily. They had been meant for each other. They had been the exact two needed at that exact moment to produce Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. No other combination of people could have formed him and in the end, despite the shortness of their lives, they had made it possible to defeat the King.

Out of all the humans on earth, of all the witches and wizards, out of all possible outcomes, James Potter and Lily Evans had come together at that precise moment to create the hope of the wizarding world.

Now, all these years later, Hermione comes to him at this exact moment, in her exact form, and out of all the members of Light that could have ended up in his custody, out of all the people he had ever known, she was the one that came.

The girl he had reprimanded for being too eager, too Gryffindor, and far too much like a young Lily for his taste, especially when he had to deal with Harry Potter's presence. The girl that had both stood up for and rebelled against him. The girl with the buck-teeth he had insulted. The girl who'd managed to turn herself into a human-cat hybrid with Polyjuice Potion, whose ingredients were stolen from his own stores, at age twelve. The girl who had used a time-turner to save the fugitive Sirius Black who had, ages before, saved him from Remus Lupin. The girl with more brains than sense, trying to teach Potter how to survive a Tri-Wizard Tournament. The girl who spearheaded the now-famous Dumbledore's Army. The girl who had managed to escape the events of the Tower, leaving him with a token of her ire; the three inch long scar across his cheek. The girl that had seemed so betrayed and disappointed that he seemingly wasn't for the Light. The girl who had had hope he was a better man, despite how cruel he had been to her.

It must mean something that through all that had happened, all they had been through, it was her existence that revived him. Severus wanted her more than he had ever wanted Lily, because she was his. Hermione Granger had survived the King's world to find her way to him and he was never going to lose her. But when he let himself see the truth, he knew he had never had her in the first place.

She was a fighter in the rebellion, she had however many lives in her hands, she was sticking it to the King by theft and sneaking and whatever else she could. She hadn't been looking for him and he hadn't been looking for her. He was no nearer to believing this world of the King would end the day they met again. He was too far gone to feel anything but contentment at the way things had turned out. She was the exact opposite, putting her life on the line every time she left refuge walls, just so she could take one more thing from the man that had taken everything from her. She didn't love him. She might have cared if he lived or died, but that was merely because he was the only one in a unique position to help them infiltrate the court.

Without him, they had nothing. They were baseless and full up with lies. If he wished it so, he could reveal their entire plot and show the King's men where the Nest was so they could scour the area for the refuge. Without him, the Light would be at a distinct disadvantage. Alastor Moody must have realized that as surely as Severus had. And when he sent back his agent, his snake in the grass, he had sent back something he knew would entice Severus to stay with the cause and with the course. But he had been so ready to give up the entire charade when the theft had intervened and still, even now, he was not in such a place that he could look at their venture and see anything but failure.

Well fought, stalwart failure.

If he told the King about the Light, revealed all their secrets, he would finally be free of this prison...and he would not have even had to cast the curse to end it.

But as dark as the pit around him was, Severus knew he could not follow through with it. The world may be vicious and cruel, broken and miserable, filled with mad men and demons, made up of all the pain and sorrow of short human lives, but it was the only world he had and he had loved that world once, despite its flaws. He would save the world. He was always being asked to. But he would not love a shadow. That's precisely what Persephone was. A delicate, emerald eyed shadow, made especially for him, so that he would not stray from the planned path.

Dumbledore had used Lily against him, like a muggle scalpel, chipping away at the bits of him that wanted to stay out of the war. Severus knew the signs of that vein of manipulation like he knew his own face. He would not let another man hold that kind of sway over him, least of all the old and battered Auror Moody.

No, until Persephone no longer existed, until the King was dead in the ground, until Hermione was back to him again...Severus would not pretend to love her. He had spent too many years of his life being led about like a dog on a leash, changing masters as it suited those around him. Well, he was done with leashes and he was done with oaths. After all this was over, he was going to leave this place, this country. He was going to vanish like smoke in the wind. Let them fight their wars and let them die on their wands, but let them do it without him.

* * *

Narcissa woke when the sun was hanging low in the morning darkness, just barely cresting the lowest valley around their Manor. She had been unable to sleep. Lucius was still face down in the master bedroom, so deep in slumber that she feared he would not wake.

After the mishap at the Ministry all those years ago, Lucius had been a punching bag of the Dark Lord's. She had watched as he was given twenty men's responsibilities and told to carry them without fault. It was only a matter of time before he would succumb and as the Master of Death, their Lord-now-King, had more than enough time on his hands. But Narcissa was not going to succumb to any man. She had been raised brave and willful, a proper Black daughter, and with sisters like Bellatrix, who answered only to the King, and Andromeda, who relinquished all her inheritances for the man she loved, Narcissa was bound to be as unbreakable as the sea.

No King, immortal or otherwise, was going to destroy the family she worked so hard for.

The elves had laid out a small and easy breakfast for her and she sat at the table in silence. It was not until she reached for a slice of bacon, however, that she noticed the other person in the room.

Sitting in the dark, with a book in hand and no shirt to speak of, her son had paused in the act of chewing to meet her gaze.

"Morning, Mother." He said and she smiled, flicking her wand for some light.

"Couldn't sleep?" She asked, looking back down to her plate to quell the urge to rush over and embrace him.

Splashed across his pale chest, like lash-marks from a thin whip, were purpled bruises. Yellowing ones littered the parts that weren't covered in new or old scars. She knew if he turned his back to her, she would see bright red wounds that too recently were leaking blood. He had again bore the brunt of his father's allotted physical punishment, which the King delighted in taking out on him, and she ached for the days when he had been small enough to pick up and as unblemished as an angel.

"I was writing to Astoria." He said, flipping a page before beginning to nibble on a sausage. Her heart leapt.

"Oh? I assumed you were done with all talk of her."

"Persephone, apparently, spoke to her. She sent me a very long letter detailing what she wants out of life and her qualifications for those desires. It read like a university entrance essay, but..." He fought back a smile. "It was endearing."

"At least you are trying." She gave him a grateful close-lipped smile and he shook his head.

"Don't get your hopes up, Mother."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"There is something familiar about it, though." Draco stood, bringing himself to sit across from her. "The gesture was very...familiar."

"How so?"

"When I was at Hogwarts, there was a..." He hesitated, "Someone that spoke just like that. Wordy and slightly indignant as though I had belittled them at some point. It was written by Astoria, without a doubt, but the attitude behind it was someone else. But that can't possibly be because that person is either dead or in hiding and couldn't have counseled Astoria."

His words were riddles and she let him speak without asking questions as he seemed to be working something out on his own.

"Unless, that person is in hiding. Unless, that person is right in front of our faces." He seemed to realize something so astonishing it shocked him into silence. Narcissa swallowed a mouthful of tea and spoke.

"Darling?"

Draco's eyes, so much like his father's, blinked and reoriented on her face. "It's nothing, Mother. Just rambling." He cleared his throat. "Why are you up so early?"

"I'm going to see if our one true friend is still willing to help us. Your father cannot take much more of this, I cannot continue picking up the slack left behind and you do not deserve this life."

"If it keeps you safe, Mother, I can endure whatever he gives me." Draco's face was set and she could no longer see the remnants of the boy that had rushed foolishly into the King's trap in his sixth year, stubborn enough to not quit, but not stupid enough to not be horribly afraid. This young man, her son, was growing into a Gryffindor's courage and reading as many books as was possible to know as much as possible. She glanced at the book in his hand at this moment and realized she did not know it.

"What were you reading?"

"Children's tales. The King gave me a book on transgenetic mutations and how they could both aid and harm the magic of witch or wizard. I opted for something less like training."

Thinking about the King's influence in her son's life made the wounds across his body all the more evident. Her heart could not take much more of it. She polished off her breakfast and stood. "I'm off. Take care of yourself while I'm gone."

"And Father? I heard him come home last night. You must have cleaned it up as there wasn't a smell this time."

"Watch him. He needs us more than he ever has." She worked her way around the table and placed a kiss on her son's forehead. He was warm despite his lack of clothing. "I love you, dearly."

"I love you, as well, I suppose."

Narcissa chuckled, making for the front door as the elves cleared away her plate.

* * *

The tomb hadn't been opened in at least a year, that much was completely obvious the moment he let a drop of blood paint the smooth stone. The gust of thick and moist air that escaped the doorway was old and stagnant, with an appalling odor of something dead. It couldn't have been the bodies, because they were each privileged with their own slot and locked securely in thick marble.

Rodolphus lit the torches, using a handkerchief to breathe through. The hall of the dead stretched on for a very long while and he had to remind himself that the Damascas were an ancient family. They had been great, a millennia ago, but being on the wrong side of battle or the wrong side of the bars had slowly eaten away at them like a furious disease. The beginning of the record purging began around the fifth century when a muggle/magical battle over ownership of a large plot of land caused the death of twenty people. The man who had started the fight was stricken from the records, though his deeds were not. It only grew worse from there, sons killing fathers, fathers killing daughters, daughters killing mothers, mothers killing children, children killing themselves. After a couple hundred years it became common practice to systematically destroy the existence of anyone that had done the family harm publicly.

What harm Penelope or her brother had done remained to be seen.

Rodolphus set a solid pace as he wandered down the long hall, casting his eyes about for any hint of his quarry. Nothing.

Arama, Clodius, Tytani, Icaban, Polpinena, Fundus, Werto, Abidan, Kestrel, but no sign of the two names he wanted to see the most. Not even where new stone had been carved to make space for the next generation. The holes without labels sat just down from Kestrel's. For all intents and purposes, the line ended there.

There wasn't even a hint that something had been moved. Any spell he cast fell without a sound and he let out a frustrated growl. He only had today. If he didn't trace these lines back to something worthwhile, he was going to be in for it. He lifted the vial of Oberan's blood and stared at the two drops left. Rodolphus had been very careful to not use it all. He watched the blood run around the bottom of the vial and an idea struck him.

"Blood tells." He whispered, delicately hiding the vial back into his chest pocket.

The hall didn't seem so long once he started back. Now his task was to convince the King to aid in this matter. He wondered if their sovereign would be willing to harm Persephone in any way. It seemed unlikely, but he had seen odder things in his lifetime.

The King's manor was unusually noisy upon his arrival and he felt his body shift into battle stance as he neared the throne room. The little patter of feet began to permeate the air and Rodolphus peeked around the corner to see the mudblood children dancing and laughing. The King was not in sight.

He slid out of the shadows in silence. An older girl, standing off to the side, noticed him first and shrieked. The others turned, saw him, and scattered like the roaches they were. He caught a young boy as he sped past him.

"Where is the King?" Rodolphus asked, wondering if this was one of the mutes or one of the tongue-less.

"M-m-m-m..." The boy looked terrified as he should be. Rodolphus only relented because his brother, Rabastan, had had a stuttering problem when he was younger. Even nowadays he would catch on certain words and so he didn't like to talk much. Sometimes people forgot he was there, until, of course he hit them with a nonverbal curse.

"Take a breath and answer me." He loosened his grip. "I won't kill you." Yet.

"M-m-m-min-n-n-istry." The boy nodded and closed his mouth.

"When did he leave for the Ministry?"

"An...hour a-a-ago." The boy relaxed and he let him loose. The boy had black hair and soft brown eyes, his tiny mouth looked just like Rabastan's had when he was this age. Rodolphus wondered if his son would have looked like this.

"Go, while I wish it." The boy vanished before he could completely close his mouth.

A moment later it seemed, the Dark King returned. He had a satisfied smirk on his pale face and the robes draped over him looked new. His blood red eyes landed on him for all of a heartbeat, then he continued onward.

"Have something for me, Lord Viper?"

"A few things, my King." He paused as the King walked away, across the large ballroom to a different hallway.

"Oh, please, on your own time." The King said, waving his long-fingered hand through the air. Rodolphus caught up quickly.

"My king, I have exhausted the records and traced the living relatives. I have been told rather conflicting information. According to Oberan Damasca, the cousin on Persephone's mother's side that still lives, she is dead and has been for two years. But the family tomb is empty of her body and there is no trace that it has ever been there. I have this," he showed the vial. "It holds two drops of Oberan Damasca's blood. I wish to extract a sample of Persephone's to compare. With your leave, my king." He retained a respectful tone, the cut on his cheek a keen reminder that the king could have a furious temper.

"If you can find a way around Severus."

"My king, I thought perhaps..." He hesitated, unsure of this next bit. It was rather presumptuous of him. "Perhaps you could secure a sample."

"Now I am to do your duties as well?"

"No, my king, I simply thought that if I am wrong in my misgivings of her, you could use this time to grow closer to her and if I am right, she will be within your reach for punishment."

"Grow closer?"

"She is quite lovely, especially if she proves true. Formidable, even." Rodolphus was covering every single base. If something went wrong, if Oberan was a liar, or if Persephone was a real Damasca and not a masquerading member of the Light, he would be prepared.

"You think I would take her from Severus?"

"No, milord," he said with reverence. "But I think you want to."

* * *

His fingers had been working as his mind sorted itself from that morning's events. Persephone hadn't come out since she went inside and he hadn't been able to muster up the nerve to go and call on her. It had been harsh, what he had said, and seemingly unfounded, but he had needed to do it. Severus was not going to allow himself to regret breaking the lie that Moody had created. He was so deep in his attempt to convince himself that he had done the right thing that he hardly noticed the wards shifting at the gate. It wasn't until the bell rang that he perked up. Severus hadn't been expecting anyone. This was more or less his day off. Putting the potion under stasis and decontaminating himself of ingredients, Severus weaved his way downstairs.

Persephone was nowhere in sight, especially after what he had said and he hurried to answer the door. Narcissa stood on his doorstep, her face so very worn and weary that his first thought was that Lucius had succumbed.

"Ah, good. You're home."

"Narcissa?"

She paused, staring at him with a puzzled expression, almost as though she was fighting contradictory thoughts. Without warning, she spun on her heel and headed back to the gate. The front door shut behind him quietly as he hurried after her.

"Wait! Where are you going?"

"Home. I should have never come."

Severus used his height to his advantage and put himself in front of her. She came up short almost immediately.

"Why did you come?"

"It's like that night all over again."

"What night?" Severus stood in such a way that she couldn't see the gate behind him unless she craned her neck.

In these four years, mostly because of his rampant despondency, he had climbed the ranks of the Death Eaters and had garnered a store of power all his own. Since the night on the Tower, the Malfoy's had been close friends and sought his advice on many things. Draco had become his godson, Narcissa had become something like a sister and Lucius had become a dear friend. He wondered sometimes if his friendship was the only thing keeping them afloat in pureblood eyes. He never heard a bad thing about the Malfoys when he was present, but had heard through the grapevine all the horrid things spoken about them. The look on Narcissa's face worried him.

"The night you swore to protect Draco."

"What's happened?" He asked, fear etching its way across his face.

"Nothing, nothing." Narcissa seemed reluctant to speak though her face was twisting in an anxious way. He took hold of one of her wringing hands and she stopped her nervous twitching.

"Are you in trouble?"

"Not yet." Her eyes met his and she was so broken behind the steel of her armor that it pained him. He had tried so hard to help them and it didn't seem to do any good.

"Tell me." He said, maneuvering them towards the garden path. The morning was warm again, though winter had only just begun. Narcissa's sable cloak drug on the stone path, sweeping behind her much like his robes would have, had he been wearing them. Clad in a light grey long-sleeved shirt tucked into black slacks with his customary dragonhide boots, he was quite comfortable in the noon air.

"I can't do this, Severus. I am sick to dying of struggling to survive. The more I do, it seems, the more I must overcome. Lucius is but one man, he cannot withstand this torment forever. His boulder of punishment is far too heavy for us to bear. I do not want to do this again, you have been the only friend our family has had since these punishments, but we can do no more."

"What do you wish of me, Narcissa?" Not another oath, anything but that.

"Speak to the King. He values your counsel as I do. Try to convince him to at least lessen the load. Whatever aid you can give us will be enough."

Severus was silent, watching the rituals of his property's resident animals. They were towards the middle of his garden, which was on the opposite side of the house to the library. A fountain, some distance away, gave off a steadying trickling sound. Narcissa's hand tightened in his and he sighed.

"I shall speak to him tonight. I do not know what he will do to Lucius for seeking my intervention, but I will do what I can. You must go home and rest." Severus made to guide them back towards the house, maybe to offer her a cup of tea before she left. Suddenly arms were around his waist and he was automatically doing the same to her.

"We are in your debt. You've done more for us than we can ever repay. I do not know what made us worthy of your care, but know that we are eternally grateful." Narcissa retreated, a delicate smile on her face.

"You owe me nothing. Now, go home, try to find some comfort. I will see what can be done with the King."

* * *

The guards outside the Lestrange manor were grumbling under their breath when Rodolphus finally made it home. Apparently his dearly beloved had turned to their number to relieve her carnal urges. That, in and of itself, was not surprising. It seemed she had caused a quarrel between three of them that was an annoyance they could not keep silent.

He didn't really care. Rodolphus took off his cloak and made for the sparring ring in the basement. It was large and well-equipped. He kept himself in shape as much as possible since being sprung out of Azkaban. Wide open areas were akin to an addictive drug, though in too much quantity he found them frightening.

The dark, cold, sea fortress never left his mind. He could remember the rocking of the small boat that brought him there, the frigid bite of the air as they hoisted him up on the dock and gave orders for his placement in a top security cell. He could remember the low keening whine that greeted his ears as he entered and the symphony of sobbing, shivering and screaming that became comforting after the fifth year. The days were the most horrible because in the morning light that filtered through the tiny splinters of windows in the expanse of the thick stone walls, one could almost recall what hope and happiness felt like.

Rodolphus thought of one such occasion, towards the beginning of his vacation, when he had made the foolish choice to try and remember his mother's face. At first he had gotten the nose wrong and then the hair, but eventually he had captured her entire essence in the puddle of rainwater and filth beside his small window. He could still taste the joy that failed to mask the shit, mold, decay, and desperation. He could still feel the sun and could still replay the moment he found his happiest memory.

He had been ten, at most, or perhaps he was just eleven. He had been waiting for something, a present...or maybe his letter, and was playing Exploding Snap with Rabastan in the foyer. He lost the game, but it made Rabastan happy so he didn't much mind. As he reset for a new game, their mother came through the door. She was still very beautiful back then, with a gentle smile and strong, warm arms. He knew she smelled of peppermint and Ulper's Perfume. He knew the feel of her cheek against his. He let himself remember her words. "I love you both, so very much."

He closed his eyes to her words and for a moment, he was gloriously happy. Then he opened his eyes to the gritty mess that was his cell and turned to the window in time to see that one Dementor, the one who had hovered just out of reach of his window, come sweeping in.

Afterwards, he didn't know why he had drawn some chubby-faced woman with smiling eyes in his own filth on the floor, but it was washed away by that night's storm and he forgot it had even occurred.

The sparring ring had become his coping mechanism once they had been freed. His cell was eight-by-eight, arch-ceilinged, with a nice view of the endless storm of the sea outside their hellhole. He knew Bella was down in one of these cells, too. He wondered how she fared. The day after him they brought Rabastan and the split second they carted him past the bars of his cell was the last time Rodolphus saw his brother for fourteen years.

Once every day, Rabastan would call out down the hall to him, asking about their parents. He would bring up little things to keep them going, but day by day the Dementors would draw from them their happy memories, until they could scarce remember each other.

Sometime after the seventh year, the words would no longer come out. His brother stuttered in his sleep in those long years, crying out for him, for their mother, for silence. Rodolphus cried for home. Fourteen years seems like a long time when you think about it, but in the long run it was very quick. It sped along once all the memories he wanted to keep were gone. Sometimes he would go to sleep clean-shaven and wake with a beard. Sometimes he would wake to snow in summer.

It had taken a couple years just to find a solid footing in the outside world. The Dark Lord, _King_, had been understanding and had honored them for true servants of his rule. Though it was incredibly difficult, seeing as he still had nightmares and woke up screaming and had holes in his memories that ached like sore teeth, he had resumed his place among the Death Eaters.

He had fought his way back from depression and madness to serve the King in all he did. This was why he could not stand the raising up of Severus Snape. If they had been free, they would have searched the ends of the earth for their master. They would have never ceased and yet a turncoat and two-faced traitor is revered above them. It turned his stomach to think of it.

His face must have betrayed his inner thoughts because Rabastan gave him a funny look when he walked into the ring.

"W-w-what are you so d-dour about?" There was a hint of a joke in his tone.

"Nothing." Rodolphus cast aside his rumination and divested himself of his shirt. "When did you arrive?"

"Three d-days ago. I was staying with G-Godemar in Flintshire."

"Have you got an assignment, then?" His brother was covered in sweat, holding one of the training dummies by the throat. The equipment was bewitched to fight you on command. It was physical and borderline muggle, but it kept him sharp and fit. His muscles had atrophied some in Azkaban and he had grown very thin. Years down the road, and after a ton of hard work, he felt good about himself again.

"Tomorrow. D-d-did you want to come? I'd like c-company." Rabastan gave him a smile, gentle like their mother's and he shrugged.

"I'm free for now. What are you doing?"

"Talking to a couple Sn-natcher friends of Greyback's. They say they captured some valuable fugitives. Godem-mar thinks its worth the look just in case."

"It can't be worse than sitting around here waiting for plans to progress. Speaking of which, what do you think of this Persephone Damasca?" Rodolphus took a sparring dummy and activated it. The sudden rushing charge set him off kilter and he had to fall backwards on his hands to avoid the next attack.

"You mean that girl everyone has been on fire about? I don't care for her much either way. Why d-do you ask?"

"It's," he dodged again, punching the dummy quickly in the kidneys. "It's slightly complicated."

"Oh? Even for you?"

"You don't have the right to be sarcastic."

"I've been on the shit side of Spain for twelve days. I get to be what I w-want." Rabastan set his dummy aside and it fell lifelessly to the floor.

"She's a spy." Rodolphus finally set in his rhythm and the dummy was staggering back. A sheen of sweat formed on his skin. "For the Light."

"What does the King think?"

"He doesn't really know. I sort of omitted the truth."

"Sort of? As in you sort of w-woke up this morning, you sort of drew breath?"

"I'm working on it."

"On what? Since when does the most loyal w-withhold the truth?"

"I was going to tell him, but first I need a fallback. He's enamored with her and if I am wrong..."

"Are you wrong?"

"No, but if the Light has learned anything in four years, I might not be able to prove that. I need an assurance that I am still on top of the heap. Yaxley is assisting."

"You tell him before m-me? I'm offended, brother."

"I needed a scapegoat. If anything goes off kilter, I'll have a way out. Remember..."

"Always have an exit strategy? Or was it always know when to fail?"

"Both. Father taught us that."

"Yes, and father is dead. I say you shouldn't follow past glory. You remember when we started this servitude it was for a Lord. When we went to Azkaban, it was for him. It's almost been twenty years. Can you honestly tell me he is the same man we swore to serve?" Rabastan always seemed to forget his impediment when it came to their Lord. He grew eloquent and clear, until he realized that he had been speaking without anyone interrupting and then he would lapse back into his stuttering. Rodolphus learned early not to draw attention to it or Rabastan would stop out of self-conscious fear.

"That sounds treasonous, brother."

"So does withholding valuable information for the sake of self-protection. I see it is acceptable for you to do it, why not I?"

"I have plans, Rab, to reclaim what has left us."

"Maybe you can't. How many times can a man be broken before there is nothing left to stand? Our Lord will need more than a p-paramour and a clean roster to be what we remember. The poison is inside of him and unless we can remove it, all our actions are for naught."

"Then what do you suggest we do?"

"The same thing Bella did to you all those years ago." Rabastan seemed pleased when the dummy knocked him flat out. Looking upside down at his brother, Rodolphus sighed.

"That is the cruelest thing you've ever said to me."

"Now just think what it will do to our Lord if he falls in some way like you did. Think of the anger and the murder. Think of the power. Our Lord has been sleeping for too long. Let us wake him up."

* * *

**A/N: **Okay! I'm liking this chapter much better than the last one. I'm officially at the unwritten chapters, so there could be a small space between them, but I have the Werdsmith app on my phone and the word counter on it is wondrous for my writing flow. I can know in a glance how many words I still have left and the progress bar turns green when you meet your goal. Here comes my favorite part of writing-writing! Please Review! Tickle2Kill.


	26. Up the Stakes

~*~Up the Stakes~*~

It was heavy despite its lightness. Held between his two hands, the cup was glowing and alluring, but somehow, in the empty space where most would house their drink, there was in its stead a sort of thirsty darkness. It promised things that could not dare to be in this world, it swore such glory that no battle could grant him the like and it asked nothing, no token of value save for him to take a single sip from it.

There was no fear in all the world as the one that filled him when he realized he was half on his way to pouring his apple cider into its depths. Ron cast the cup aside and took a few steps back. Across from him, Kingsley and Aberforth shared glances, before the latter spoke.

"I told you that darkness lies in all of us and dark magic calls to it. The bad part of making horcruxes, aside from killing that is, is that you don't get to choose which part of your soul is captured for all eternity. In the histories, there was a man whose horcrux helped his wife to find his treasure when his penchant for fighting at local duels had done him in. But there was also the tale of the Dead Man's Lute, that played lost travelers to their doom off a cliff in Ireland. Each item turns according to its inhabitant. Each holds its own darkness as determined by the residing darkness of the soul. We shouldn't be surprised that Tom's turned to a poison chalice, or a diary that could possess a person, or a ring that could turn a man to a charred corpse for the wearing of it. There are two more like this one, you say?"

Ron nodded, trying to clear his head of that voice that continued to mutter of its power. Moody spoke where he could not.

"A locket and a diadem. Weasley here thinks the snake the fiend keeps by his side could be one."

"I wouldn't put it past Tom to do such a thing. Have you locations on the jewelry?"

"No. Hermione should be able to narrow the field if the Christmas party reports are true. I've yet to hear from the Slayer, though he sent a patronus to tell me he would have a lot of news soon. No later than this afternoon."

"They've put up a curfew ward over Hogsmeade until further notice. I suppose it will stop fools from making secret rebellions in the Hog's Head. I've got enough eyes on me as it is without your stray sheep stirring up more. Did you want me to keep the cup while you search for the others?"

"That room you let us come through before, the one through that portrait, can you house it there until we know how to destroy it?"

"I can. Will you be bringing more through my house?"

"As many as we find. Now, we must be off. Weasley tracked a Snatcher group to an abandoned warehouse where they've been holed up. Oberan tells us they'll be meeting a couple Death Eaters today."

"Yeah, keep me out of your dealings with that rat. I'll hold your bloody cup like I'm one of them goblins but I won't keep company with dungeon folk." Aberforth eyed them warily as Ron stood and made for the door. "And watch for the neighbors. Madam Puddifoot's turned to snitching lately."

The weather had come back like a vengeful ghost while Christmas had snuck up on them and the fur lining his cloak helped to maintain some of the warmth from Aberforth's fireplace. The cold inside of him remained. Kingsley was grim, but that was nothing new and Moody was saying a last something to their host before having the door slammed in his face.

It had been about eight months since he had been here last. Though he hadn't been known for it at school, Ron was adept at the game the spiders of the world played. Once the Siege and its terrible consequences had stolen his childish behavior, he had shown a keen ability to both relay, gather and distort information. Hermione, Neville, Seamus and Hannah did most of the legwork, while himself, the twins and Dean Thomas listened in. It had worked seamlessly in the beginning, but then Hannah had got herself married and before that Dean had run afoul of the Snatchers they were going to meet, while George and Fred had started making their joke shop dreams into weapons for the Light and Fred had taken to testing them in the field. Everything had sort of turned on them.

The cold inside him was waning and he hoped the more distance between himself and that cup would make it disappear. When Moody had joined them in the middle of the alley, they spun as one, Apparating away.

Auror red was a bit too flashy for incognito work, so the force that lived within refuge walls had dyed their robes dark blue. Beneath his cloak, Ron wore the same. It had been Moody's prerogative that deemed who was part of their colors and sometime between helping Lupin with werewolf negotiations and tracking the men from the list in headquarters, Moody decided he was worthy. Ron didn't much care for titles or glory anymore. His induction had been very informal and last minute. It was perfect as far as he was concerned. He wanted to end this blight before it spread and if that meant he had to swear an Auror's oath, then he would but it was nothing to celebrate. At least the oath didn't bind him to a person, it bound him to a duty, one he was already fulfilling.

Uphold the values and security of the country of Great Britain and the laws to the best of your ability. With a few modifications, they had created their own laws and duties, ones which allowed them to better protect the Light as the image it was and the people who made it more than that. All their oaths, however, ended when Voldemort was defeated.

The warehouse before them was large, but mostly deserted. The Snatchers that squatted here were a ragtag bunch, headed by Fenrir Greyback and a man named simply Scabior. Neville had had a run-in with the latter and all of the refuge knew of Greyback. The rest weren't much on the radar aside from a few breaking and entering, pickpocketing or using magic to terrorize muggles in incidents in downtown London before the King took his throne. There were ten in total and all were slotted to be here today for a meeting. Until the Death Eaters actually came, there was no telling who all was going to attend but they had already rigged the warehouse when the Snatchers had been out living up to their namesake.

Twenty former Aurors in their new dark blue duds were scattered across the warehouse, hidden even now behind special shielded sections of the walls that appeared invisible unless you were behind them, or up in the shadows of the rafters, ready with the weapons that had passed Fred's rigorous tests. Kingsley moved to join them and Ron nodded to Moody before climbing the ladder that had once been the fire escape, using an industrial-sized vent to crawl into the section where some of the Aurors were hiding.

"Dimmock's gone to the loo, but everyone else is in place. Ham say when we're starting?" Auror Anderson whispered as soon as Ron managed to set himself up beside the shield barricade.

"Ham?"

"Head Auror Moody. H-A-M. The force had to call the big bison something. Where've you been, then?"

"High level business. Keep your voice down." Ron made sure his wand was out and looked to the right hand corner of the building, down there by the puddle of icy water was the signal. Now all he had to do was wait.

* * *

Snape's manor was dark, almost suffocatingly so. Not just because almost all the lights were out and the stone that made up the facade was a mixture of black, dark tan and muted gold, but also because there was an air of antisocial detachment about the place. Every single time he had come here, it had felt the same way, though now it was much thicker a feeling.

From the front step, Draco had half a mind to leave his pondering in his head, but he had already rung the bell and he could hear small footsteps coming towards him. The door swung open on its own.

"Master Malfoy is welcome. Would Master like tea?"

"Is your mistress home?"

"Our mistress is present, master, but she is not home."

Frowning at the little elf, Draco let himself inside. The furniture helped to brighten the dreary place and he wandered around the lower floor before setting out for the second. Past the guest rooms and sitting rooms were spiral staircases, tucked neatly away from first glance. These stairs lead up slim turrets to observation decks of the grounds. With temperature control and clear glass shutters, it was perfect for viewing the expansive lands around Severus' manor. A few day-beds lay scattered about the space. In one of them, with a shiny metal something in her hands, was Persephone.

"Erm, are you busy?"

She gave him all of a second's glance before resuming her work. "Not really. Come to chat?"

"I have questions actually."

"What kind of questions?"

"Mostly about you."

"Look, I'm not interested..."

"Neither am I. The King has been teaching me for three years...I notice things now that I never would have before. I was hoping you could satisfy my curiosity."

"Within reason, I suppose."

It was disconcerting how she balanced the piece of metal with her wand, casting enchantments on it and ripping them off if they did not suit without once breaking her concentration. Strangers in the room usually made him hesitate at least. He sat close to her on one of the day-beds, reclining back to gaze at her.

"How long have you known Severus?"

"A year..." She paused as though confused. "It seems as though I've known him my whole life. But I don't want to speak about him. Have you spoken with Astoria?"

"She has written to me. I have you to thank, I take it?"

"It was a thought, she decided to carry it out."

"Yes. What are you making?"

"A gift."

"For the King?" It looked more like a metal band than anything, a dark silver, almost tarnished steel color. She drew on parts of it with the tip of her wand and the surface of the metal seemed to bubble.

"Do you not give him something? Three years you've been trained by him and you do not thank him?"

"I have had enough of his gratitude for my gifts to him." Draco smoothed down the front of his robes. He could feel the scars beneath the fabric, the proof of his King's kindness. If his father made a mistake, if he made a mistake...so many little reasons to endure a new pain. "What was your brother like?"

"Icarys?" She seemed amused almost at the question. "He was silly and vulnerable and desperate to live."

"Good at Quidditch, I hear."

"Reasonable. It was one of the only things he could love that mother wouldn't deny him. Of course, that might have been because she kept him stuck inside and there was no fear of him injuring himself flying."

"But he flew nonetheless."

"It is very hard to keep someone from what they love, harder still to make them cease to love it by withholding it from them. When he was finally able to do without our cautious mother, he was drawn to Quidditch like a moth to a flame."

"Seeker?"

"Why would you say that?"

"Or was it Keeper?" Draco smirked. "You never could decide between the two of them. But Gryffindor's are greedy when it comes to friends."

"I didn't go to Hogwarts as you well know."

"Is Severus at the school again?" He refused to approach her responses as he had already made up his mind that they were not the truth. If the King had given him anything, it was the stubbornness of a man that wanted to live forever. Once he had accepted a belief, he was hard-pressed to discard it.

"I do not know nor care where he is. He can rot for all I care. He means very little to me."

Draco smiled. "Trouble in paradise?"

"This place is no paradise. How can utopia exist in the heart of emptiness? We found a momentary delusion. The pushers in Knockturn can give me the same thing for less." Persephone forcefully heated a section of the metal while it hung upside down and it melted downward in spikes.

"You know of the pushers? I assumed someone of your background would not know much of anything about our sordid underbelly. You've been down to their dens, then?"

"I have seen them from afar while standing in Diagon."

"Ah, much like a pureblood. We are the masters of avoidance. So long as there is a gulf between us and the suffering we cause, there is no need for guilt." He leaned toward her, near enough for his whisper to be heard. "But the bodies keep stacking up, and though they are silent, they give off an odor unlike anything you've ever smelled before. A few are mudbloods, fresh from the King's dungeons, with my aunt's penmanship on their forearms. She does love to remind them of what they are, especially the children with their short attention spans."

"Stop it." Her wand was at his jugular and the end burned his skin. He had met worse pain at his own hands and he pressed his advantage.

"Do you care for them, the mudbloods? Does it offend you to hear the word? They don't much mind towards the end, my aunt is very thorough. She likes to make some of them choose which one of their parents die first. I watched one occasion when she pulled a woman's skin from her body, piece by piece, because she was trying to find the mud. Sometimes she's literal like that."

"Stop it!" Persephone dropped her wand, favoring her left side as she punched him in the direct middle of his face. He was thrown back with the strength of it, combined with her magical power, and rolled to the floor.

He groaned, his whole head on fire, curling up to separate himself from the pain. Blood was in his mouth and running from his nose, he felt it dripping onto the floor. A laugh worked its way past his lips and he struggled to right himself. His head swam, but he managed to crawl up onto the day-bed she had knocked him from.

"Same buttons, new model." Draco laughed again. "You didn't change your face enough for me to not recognize that disdainful scowl when you greeted Madam Charlotte at the party. For far too many years that look was reserved for me and my kind. You punch just like you did all those years ago."

"What are you rattling about?"

"You!" It seemed so obvious to him, but he realized she was probably clueless. "The name Granger ring a bell?"

"What's this about?" There was a look on her face that told him she was genuinely confused. He frowned.

"You don't remember your own name?"

"For an agent of the King, you sure are thick." She had set her metal thing aside, it looked a bit like a crown now that he was at eye level with it. The front spiked up in a tier formation to a single peak, matched to make a sort of cross on the corresponding sides. Linking the tall spikes were descending ones, with vine-like lengths of metal between them. It appeared both metal and wood. "My name is Persephone."

"No, it's Hermione."

She hunched over, her eyes snapped shut and moaned in pain. Draco didn't move, he just observed. After a second, she sat back up, eying him suspiciously.

"Severus said that name once and I felt that same kind of pain. Is she important?"

"Depends on what you do."

"That makes no sense."

"Well, look at it this way. If you wiggle your way up the chain of command to the King, hook your claws into him and tear him asunder before our very eyes, you will make her very important. But, if you choose to simply stand by as the world turns yet again for the dark, she will be highly insignificant."

"Who is she?"

"You should ask yourself that question. I have a meeting with my tutor, excuse me." Draco left before Persephone could stop him, weaving his way out of Severus' house. The front lawn was much brighter than it had been when he came and he smiled for a brief moment, before setting off for the edge of the grounds.

* * *

It was cold again and slightly wet, the sky blanketed with thick grey clouds that promised icy rain. Rodolphus wore heavy clothing and his best cloak, which was magically altered to repel moisture. Rabastan was clad in leather, head to toe, sewn together in patchwork by his own hand. Along each tight line of thread there was a pocket, some with poisons, some with paralyzers, some with Veritaserum, some with antidotes, the pockets by his heart were full with healing draughts. He had lost his wand when he'd been taken to Azkaban and the fear of it ever happening again drove him to potions for a fallback. Rodolphus had never been that adept at potions.

The King had yet to call on him about the blood, so he chose to occupy himself with what he could while he waited. Rabastan worked with one of their Welsh contacts, Godemar, who traded info with the Irish contact Colin of Rathangan to form a triangle of knowledge with a very well aliased Oberan Damasca. Most knew the man as Philip. Most of the Snatcher networks gave a portion of their bounties to the Cerberus of the Wizarding world for clues as to where the highest paying catches would be. Rabastan made sure they kept their side of the bargain.

Rabastan's crew consisted of four other men and two women, all of which had either been in Azkaban or done crimes worthy of being sent there. They were a tough bunch, very gruff and altogether unsavory company, but beggars could not be choosers. The best of the best were the worst of the worst.

They met outside the warehouse, about a half mile from it on a sheltered place beyond a hill. Rabastan's Six were sitting in a circle with their legs crossed, tossing bits of dried meat to each other from a central pack. With the lean-to propped up against the hill with a battered tent beneath it and the evidence of a smokeless fire-pit, Rodolphus reasoned that they must have been camping here for a while. The females looked like sisters, their light blond hair bound with strips of leather in long but twisted plaits that they coiled into flat buns at their crowns. Their bent wands were sticking out of their hair like twigs. Three of the men were lithe creatures with long legs and thin fingers, probably for picking and breaking things from locks to wrists. The last man was taller than even their Lord and wider than a giant, his shoulders hunched in such a way as to make him look like a stone mammoth.

Rabastan muttered something in Gaelic and received a cheerful reply.

"My brother, D-dolph, higher ranking than us and still has nothing to d-d-do, so he's accompanying us. Treat him w-with respect, he'll do the same to you."

"Hello, elder. We are Aela and Eala." The women said together, pressing a hand to their foreheads. He returned the gesture, never quite discerning which was which.

"You're what drove the Longbottoms mad, yeah? They were me cousins when I was still known by anything o'r than Gouger. Nice to meet you, sir." The darker haired of the three men made the same gesture.

"They call me Winder." The red-haired of the three muttered and neither said nor did anything more.

"I'm Cailen, the big man is Zane. Welcome, welcome, how's the fam? I don't much care, thanks for asking. The meat's for everyone, the ale's for me, you can have the bottom bunk with Gouger because I don't like the smell of his feet. Nice to meet ya, elder!" The blue-haired of the three spoke in a rush, gesturing here and there and everywhere, a bit of meat in his teeth. His eyes were moonlight white and he grinned like a crocodile.

"Anything new?" Rabastan asked, finding a seat between the women.

"A pinky pee pissed this morning. The wind carried the carcass of a conversation and Zane stole my last good biscuit. I got a paper cut from Godemar's little letter and poor Winder lost a game of Snap. They're all present along with little boy blue with Winder's hair that went in through the out up that ladder there. I think he was trying to hide from pinky pee."

Rodolphus wasn't sure how his brother understood any of that, but he nodded as though he did.

"The little boy blue part of the usual?"

"He snuck in with the fairies last night, the hyenas don't know he's there."

"Winder, you follow the blue boy up the ladder. Eala, turn on the Anti-App and Aela, ready the transport. Zane, you and Cailen come with me to greet our little bounty hunters."

"What about me?" Gouger seemed to bounce with excitement.

"You're backup with Aela and Eala once they're done."

Gouger gave a giggle and took off, his boots kicking up dust. The women set off behind him, light and quiet. Winder was gone before they had all stood. Rodolphus joined his brother with a grim smirk. What strange company his kin did keep.

The warehouse had a large bay dock for muggle vehicles, and one of the doors was open wide, guarded by a short bald man with half his jaw broken inwards. He tilted his head at them, then vanished back inside. Rabastan pushed Cailen ahead and Zane behind, pulling his wand. The four of them hopped up onto the concrete opening and made their way towards the center of the derelict warehouse.

"I've got the bastard's Galleons if that's what you're here about." Fenrir Greyback's voice echoed out from the fire where the rest of the Snatchers were standing. Rodolphus took inventory, but he had taken on worse during the First War and Aurors at that.

"Time ticks, hybrid. Colin gave you a tip on Ollivander and he's yet to see that gold. A twentieth of the bounty for a top list wandmaker, that's about three hundred Galleons, isn't it?" Cailen didn't speak in gibberish now and his eyes, as white as they were, sparkled with some hidden glee.

"It was two hundred when we made the deal."

"You made the deal six months ago. Time ticks. Tick, tick, tick."

"We've got more men than you do."

"Debatable."

"Give us time."

"Can't give you what we don't have."

The groups had moved closer, tighter, and Rodolphus shifted into his dueling stance.

"But we can give you what we have." One of the others came forward, his plaid pants torn at the knee.

"And what would that be?" Rabastan spoke and it was crystal clear.

"We've got a goblin, a former Ministry bitch in pink, and Horace Slughorn. We hear he's a Professor highly valued by the King."

"One hundred Galleons, and all three captured, and Colin sleeps easy knowing he didn't have to have me kill you." Rabastan smiled, his hand on his waist, right where the poison was.

"Deal."

There was an uproar from the Snatchers, most of them were furious that their money was being given away, and then a sudden loud boom, followed by blinding light. It swept them all backwards, knocking them off their feet and Rodolphus rolled to his knees to see smouldering holes with smoke pouring out of some of the men. He immediately sought out the nearest cover, dodging behind a broken piece of the tin roof. His hands were scuffed from the speed at which he crawled to shelter and he threw every thought from his mind in favor of tactical procedure.

_Locate enemy combatants_. He bent close to the edge of his shelter and cast a thermal net around the room, through the smoke he saw fourteen people, but discerning friend from foe proved difficult. He shot a hex across the space to a robed form and was satisfied when a man in blue fell out of the smoke to the ground with a cry. Shouts were being traded from one side of the room to the other, some even raining down from above them and from outside.

_Locate comrades_. Rodolphus gave a whistle, like a snippet of a song and Rabastan whistled back in a declarative urgency. Two down, undetermined amount of enemies, Snatchers not only foe. So, who would attack them like this? Clearing the air with help from someone else's spell, he placed everyone. Zane was using his body to block one of the women from incoming spells, confirming Rodolphus' assumption that he was at least part giant. Winder was wrestling with a red-haired man in blue, while the other woman lay motionless on the ground in a pool of blood. Cailen was screaming, casting bright curses across the room and hitting each one of his targets, Gouger was laying against a staircase, his head a few feet away in icy puddle.

Rodolphus couldn't see Rabastan. He was filled with fear at the thought of why that could be.

"_Fiendfyre_!" He whispered, using the hot burning mass as a shield, surveying the bloody, charred space where once they had been discussing money. His brother's wand was laying where the plaid Snatcher had been standing and he had to dodge forward to grab it when Winder stumbled backwards into him, a magical chain around his neck.

Blood was running down his leg from his thigh, he guessed he had been hit, but it was a skirmish and he couldn't afford to tend to it. Rodolphus ducked beneath a bright white curse to land flat on the floor and was forced to scramble wildly towards the wall when four more spells followed. He flung every vile curse he could think of into the area beyond his fiery demonic shield and was greeted with nearly as vehement responses.

Rodolphus discontinued his curse, slipping up the staircase past Gouger's headless corpse, to get a better vantage of the scene. Spells were flying everywhere, the air was thick with smoke and blood and a cool breeze from the vent beside him chilled his already frozen skin. Though he was freezing, he was sweating, his breath rushing in and out of his lungs as adrenaline ran rampant through his veins.

The battle was almost over, and they were not the victors. Men and women in dark blue stood over Greyback and his plaid associate, Zane lay unconscious on the ground by the bay doors, and the other woman was bound and wandless. It wasn't until a man with a very familiar limp turned his way that he found Rabastan. Bloody, with his short hair wild and filthy, his brother hung unconscious between that red-haired man Winder had been fighting and another redhead that appeared to be related to him.

"Lestrange." Oddly enough, Rodolphus knew the man with the limp was speaking to him not Rabastan. He made his way back down the stairs, refusing to hide behind cover while treasonous bastards held his brother.

"Well, aren't you brave? Attacking the King's men will win you no allies." He sneered at the man, wondering if he could blind them long enough to retrieve his little brother.

"I don't need allies, I need hostages. Your brother should suit, no?" Alastor Moody, that horrid cripple of an Auror, patted Rabastan's cheek.

"I'll kill you if you harm him." Rodolphus raised his wand but there were ten to his one.

"I have no doubt you'll try. Well, we must be off. Give the King a message for us. Tell him Happy Christmas! Oh, and think of this as a birthday present, too."

"He will sweep you from existence when he hears of this. There will be no place you can hide, no safe haven from his wrath, and we will drag you screaming into your ends! You and all the Light!"

"Next time, we don't let you live." Moody made a gesture and the group faded back into the walls, vanishing from sight with Greyback, his plaid help, the bound woman, and Rabastan.

Rodolphus stood still for a moment, almost as though he were paused in the fabric of time, then he screamed. It was long and loud and broken. He killed every blue clad witch or wizard that had the misfortune of moving from where they lay on the warehouse floor. It wasn't until the stench of the dying and fire and blood overcame him that he realized he wasn't the only one left. Cailen was holding Gouger's head, crying and wailing, while Zane came to and hurried to the woman that was still left. Turns out her name as Eala. Winder was dead as was Gouger and Eala was still on the floor beside the first blue clad wizard Rodolphus had hit. Zane began to heal her, singing his magic into her flesh.

"What do we do, Elder?" Zane spoke, his magic glowing over Eala's body.

For a moment, Rodolphus was tempted to kill them, too, but they had survived and they knew Rabastan's methods in the field better than he did. They knew how long they would have before his back-up plans would fail him. Rodolphus knew how long they had until he broke, but he did not know how long they had until he had run out of options.

"I give the King his message and we kill every waste of life that dares tempt death eternal. Leave your dead and come with me."

He managed to get the three of Rabastan's Six that were still alive out of the warehouse, which was a task in and of itself as Cailen refused to leave Gouger's head with the rest of him and Eala looked for her sister despite being told she had been taken. He satisfied the former by cleaning the dead man's head to the skull and the latter by assuring he would destroy any person to keep the sisters apart. He ordered them to master themselves and to clean the dead of their belongings, which took another half hour. Afterward, he set the place ablaze. The fire rose into the sky and Rodolphus let it fill him with fury. Now there was no excuse left for their King to hide behind. The Light had survived.

_I live, _that note had said_, We live._

* * *

**A/N: **This is the first chapter I have written and edited entirely by myself. My usual Beta, unofficially official as it is, my dear and darling Moina, is busy and has a life where I am living through my stories, so I do not begrudge her that. But I tend to need to clear out my head space by writing and finishing stories so that I won't have to think of them anymore. I started this story in December of 2011 and Moina was the first person to read and poke me whenever I was slow updating, so I dedicate the whole start of this story to her. Now, from this point on, if you see any mistakes, they are mine and mine alone. So enjoy and please review! Can you spot the fandom reference? Tickle2Kill.


	27. Demon's Bargain

~*~Demon's Bargain~*~

Severus had called on the King without being summoned before, but that was back when his emotions had been locked in a deep dark hole, guarded by his apathy. They would talk about magical theory, potions, the pros and cons of certain elements of dark magic, politics and policy, and for a few weeks they spoke of children's stories. They would test their limits in duels and transform things that were never meant to be, merely for the joy of creating what they wished. They spoke of death and life, hate and love, of wizards and witches, past and present. Severus had delved more deeply into the dark arts than he had ever wished to, but then it had been too much. One day, he stopped coming and one day, the king stopped asking for him.

It should have struck him as odd that the king would let him go so easily, but at the time he had not cared either way what the king did with him. He had murdered and pillaged, cast and created, done more evil than his life's allotted amount and he did not care what the king in his whimsy thought to do. But then Narcissa came to him, as did Lucius, because Draco was missing more oft than not. It did not take much prodding to find that the king, who grew easily bored with his eternal life if it was not filled with either growing, planting, or expanding his dark garden, had taken an apprentice in his arts.

Draco appeared willing to participate and even went so far as to assure his parents that he was not being harmed. It continued this way for two years, until Severus stumbled upon a session of the two. There was more blood than a body could produce and in the center of the gore was Draco, his eyes like amber jewels, aflame, his hair hard like bone and pale as well, curling into his neck and rolling down his back like shale rock protrusions, his feet elongated with claws at the heels, his fingers and toes more serpent than human. The boy had roared, but it was too much for him to take and Draco had fallen to the floor. The king had looked pleased.

He was used to the feel of dark magic and the taste of blood in the air. So, it was no surprise when he entered the antechamber of the king's domed laboratory that he was hit with the stench of it. Another class was in session.

"You will never learn to grow them if you continue to focus on aesthetics. It does not matter if you are beautiful, it matters if you are strong. Try again." The king's voice was not as cold as it was always known to be and there was a hint of calmness that few Death Eaters were ever able to witness.

"Yes, master." Draco sounded tired, but he also sounded determined.

Severus slowly advanced, but stayed just out of sight, gazing downward at the scene. His godson was again on his knees and he was wandless, runes written in blood on his pale flesh. He spoke gently in Latin and in Old Norse, crafting a magic around himself like a sheath, and it rose up from the ground like smoke, clinging to his body and anchoring itself inside him. He swayed in the depths of his magic, pulling and pushing it into a shape he desired, calling on what was within him to change what was without. This was ancient magic, used before even the Founders time, when wands were toys for children and the blood, filthy or pure, was the vessel of soul magic and valued above any treasure.

"Now, focus on what _you_ want to be, not what your magic dictates. Capture in your mind the image of yourself as you desire and, with your magic, make it so." The king was in light grey robes and the hem was soaked with blood. He seemed a wraith as he circled the room, instructing Draco in his magical exploration.

As the air grew heavy and asked of the earth more than it was willing to give, Draco changed before his eyes. First his body, as it grew larger and his skin turned to stone, shale like it was the first time, but smoother somehow. Then, his hands and feet morphed, turning into that less than human beast he had seen before, with claws so long and sharp they marked the stone floor. His eyes turned amber again and hardening his small beard into a curved chin, his jaw cracked to accommodate his larger teeth. But the most shocking of all was the snapping of bone in his back as small wings dug themselves out of his flesh, desperate to flap in the open air. The wings were only bone and they would not carry him even if he wished it so, but they were a start. The king applauded.

"Well done, Draco."

"Thank you, master." It seemed to pain him to respond and for a moment he gasped in a breath, then his transfiguration gave and he collapsed to the floor, his scars multiplied. The king spun away and began to write down his findings in a thick leather book on a nearby table. There were potion vials all across that table and once he was finished documenting the achievement of the day, the king scooped one up.

"Do not just stand there, Severus. Come."

Severus stepped forward and descended into the laboratory, the splash of liquid following his steps. The king got his long arms beneath Draco's back and lifted him up so that he was sitting up halfway. He held out the vial urgently and Severus took it in silence.

"Give him the potion." It was blood-replenishing, but it smelled faintly like Pepper-Up. The potion went down Draco's throat easily, with a little help, and the king lifted him into the air. Though the king was tall and thin, he had a hidden strength that few knew about. He carried the weight of Draco with little trouble. A bed was made in one of the corners and Severus helped the king placed his godson there. The king gently brushed the long blond locks away from the young man's face and waved his hand over him, casting an ancient magic that set what was broken back into place and restored color to Draco's pale cheeks. The gore was vanished as well. Once he was covered and comfortable, the king swept away again. "I suppose you want something? Everyone wants something from me when I am busy. What is it this time?"

He knew it was not his actions that caused the king's mood, so he did not react to the tone.

"I came to ask for leniency." Severus stayed beside Draco; the king had been far too affectionate and mindful of the young man. Anything the king cared for was in danger, simply by catching the king's attention. Though perhaps the king would protect Draco as an investment and save the man's life. Severus did not dare to hope.

"For whom?" Blood-red eyes settled on him while their owner pulled his wand to clean the floor, and his robes. Below the blood were lines of magic etched into the stone to make a focusing circle; it was obvious they had been there for a while. "You are too stubborn to ask it for yourself. My apprentice must have studied you fiercely for as well as he emulates you."

"Lucius Malfoy."

The King scoffed. "And did he come to you on bended knee to convince you to speak for him?"

"He is a loyal servant, Majesty, and more than willing to carry out your demands..."

"Demands, are they?" He strode nearer to the circle, looking up at Severus. "Is that what serving me has become? Demands? Am I so fickle to you that what tasks I entrust you with are being demanded? I _bestow_ these tasks upon you because I believe you are strong enough for them. I am giving you honor by sending you in my stead to foreign lands, letting your face and your voice be mine. Demands, you call them, and you are left confounded as to why I do not forgive or forget. When I do bring you boons, you take them as chains."

"My king, it is not that he is not grateful, it is that he is mortal where you are not and is weaker by that account. I came out of my care for my brethren, who stood by me against the odds as your loyal servants have stood by you. But I would be hypocritical if after all they have done I did not return the favor. I take their burden unto myself willingly."

"You and your need for punishment. If it were not for your effectiveness, I would think you had become good while the winter chilled us to our rest. Martyr, like the boy and his mother. Are you a martyr, Severus?"

He paused in thought, choosing carefully what he said. "I will not die for love or for light, ever again. Martyrs are good people who cast themselves on fires so both saints and sinners may walk across. You know too well, my king, that I am far too selfish for that."

"Yes, much like myself." The King gave a beckoning nod of his head and Severus drew nearer. "What amount of leniency do you ask for?"

"He may keep his titles and his many occupations, I ask only that you send me to France instead. I can take over the negotiations and put a fresh face in the conversation. I am sure Mister Boudin is exhausted with turning down your proposal. Let me persuade him."

"The Slayer in France?" The King sighed. "It would be good to have that situation resolved once and for all. I will accept your bid for leniency."

"Thank you, milord."

"On...one condition: you have until the first day of the second semester to complete this task or I shall not only take from Lucius Malfoy his titles, I will do the world a favor and end his life. Will you go to France, now?"

The gleam of triumph in the fiend's eyes filled Severus with rage, but he could do nothing about it. This was more than simple lies and misinformation, this was the life of a friend that hung in the balance and he could not fail him. Severus refused to fail yet another person who trusted him.

"I will leave at first light tomorrow."

The triumph turned to joy and the King pressed a hand to his temple. Perhaps it was the proximity or the intent, but Severus could feel the burn of his mark and the unconscious Draco stirred slightly. It took less than ten minutes for Lucius to appear.

"Your Majesty, I..."

"_Silence_!" The pureblood man fell to his knees before their king and kissed the hem of his robes. The fiend grinned as he kicked forward, catching Lucius in the throat. Gasping for breath and laying flat on his back, Lucius stared up at their sovereign with shameless fear. A bare, skeletal white foot slipped past the long grey robes and the king pressed down on Lucius' chest with it.

"Leniency. _Mercy_." Lucius tried not to struggle, but he did instinctively. "You ask this of me because you think I possess the ability to erase what you have done. Failure after failure, it has become clear to me. You are nothing, less than nothing. Wormtail, in his sleep, is more productive than you. I should kill you now and be done with it."

"Your Majesty!"

"But Severus has stepped in for you and I will be merciful. If he completes your task and returns before Hogwarts begins again, I will raise the stigma from you and allow you to come to court untarnished. If he should fail, however, I will find the slowest death imaginable for you."

"Thank you! Thank you!"

"Do not thank me yet. Before you go, I want to make sure you remember what it means to fail me." The dark sovereign slashed his wand through the air and Lucius began to scream. Draco jerked awake and Severus tried to refrain from stupidity by lashing out to stop him from seeing this. The young man had been driven so far as to take his father's punishments as his own and to stand by while their king tortured him would exceed his capabilities.

"You may leave, Slayer. You have work to do." The voice was akin to frigid wind and the snake face twisted into a grinning skull, pale and thin and inhuman. It was not death their master emulated, it was the dead.

* * *

Ginny hadn't left Harry's side since he had woken and despite Samantha's best efforts, she had been immovable. Moody trusted that now that he had opened his eyes and spoken, it was only a matter of time before he sat up, before he held conversations, before he began to ask questions. He stepped in a day or so ago to make sure no one called her away for anything. Gloria was excelling at her job without Ginny there to take the more difficult cases and Hagrid had been moved out and into a small cottage they had made for him. Dean was walking the halls on his freshly healed leg and a nursery was being erected in the werewolf wing.

The older kids at their Hogwarts were nearly ready to graduate and were taking introductory Auror classes to prepare for any upcoming battles. Lavender had been by to update her on the goings-on around the refuge and she had heard that they had three new prisoners, one of them being Rabastan Lestrange!

_What on earth is Moody thinking?_

Bill said they had caught Fenrir Greyback and Remus was all sorts of furious because he could smell him from the furthest point of the refuge. Dedalus Diggle was building more houses along the side roads because they suspected an influx once the retaliation attacks got underway. McGonagall was going on a mission with Neville and Moody soon to release captured members of the Light and Tonks was testing out various disguises with Lavender just in case they had to infiltrate.

The twins were full steam ahead with their funny-to-firepower inventions, filling up their house with stacks of new weapons. She hadn't seen it herself, but according to a lot of people, their arsenal was growing. She hated that her family was turning into weapon makers, hostage takers, and that theft, murder and sabotage was not only accepted but preferred. She knew war would change them all, but she wasn't ready for so much destruction.

Harry wasn't awake at this moment, but Ginny was catching him up on everything as he seemed to respond to her voice. She would probably have to retell the entire story, from the Tower to the present, when he was fully awake, but she didn't mind. Cesare came by frequently to ensure that she ate, mostly because he heard from Samantha that she was refusing to leave the room for anything including food. It felt as though he had decided she was one of his pack and that he must care for her in her time of need.

"Bill thinks Fleur may be pregnant. He wants to call the baby Gideon, if it's a boy, for our uncle, but Charlie thinks Mum will cry every time she sees him. I actually side with Fleur, as crazy as that sounds, because she wants to name the baby Victoire, for a girl, and I think that sounds lovely. Remus says Tonks may be pregnant, too, which is just horrible timing, to be honest. We'll need her abilities in the coming months, but I can't wait to see if the baby will have her powers or her father's condition. Remus is worried sick now that Greyback is here, but he'll be a great father. And with a pack in the refuge, the baby will be in good hands if it becomes a werewolf."

"What're...what're they going to call it?"

Ginny stopped talking so quickly she bit her tongue. "Harry?"

"Still here." He gulped and she hurried to get him water. It took a bit for him to finish the cup, but he laid back with a sigh once he had. "So?"

"What? Oh! Tonks says it's a boy and since her father was killed by those Snatchers, she wants to name him Ted. Ted Lupin."

"Sirius would've loved this."

"Yeah..." She smiled. "He would have."

The quiet settled over them and she didn't know what to say. She didn't want to startle him with anything he wasn't ready for and she wasn't sure who she could call to greet him because Hermione was behind enemy lines and Ron was off on missions, Neville was just as busy now and Luna was somewhere doing something unknown. Ginny had half a mind to call the lot of them anyway, but her medical training caught up with her.

"How do you feel?"

"Tired, which makes no sense."

"You haven't been moving, you haven't been conscious, you've been doing the exact opposite of human nature. It makes all the sense in the world that you're tired."

"Okay." He closed his green eyes and she gripped his hand. "What do I need to do?"

"Gather your strength. We're supposed to start rehabilitation as soon as you're strong enough or as soon as possible. You've been sitting in one place, more or less, for four years."

"Four years?!" It was said quietly, but the shock of it came through crystal clear.

"You...what's the last thing you remember?"

"Being on that Tower, watching Snape kill Dumbledore...watching Bellatrix Lestrange kill me."

"You fell after Dumbledore, but Hermione and Luna had gotten out of Flitwick's office and they rushed to find you. It was by chance that Hermione stopped your descent." Ginny didn't like remembering this, but she reckoned that Harry didn't like hearing it either. "We got you out of there, we thought you were dead...but Madam Pomfrey found a pulse and said you were still with us. We took care of you."

"Is Pomfrey going to come check on me, soon?"

She paused and looked down at the floor. How to tell him who was gone? How did she run through the list of their dead or missing, how did she greet him with the world they lived in now? Four years had passed since that Tower and it had been the darkest part of her life, darker still than the diary, because she had lost loved ones and so had so many others. It didn't seem fair to foist all this heartache on him so soon after he had woken up.

"Don't lie." Harry's voice was so strong and serious that she looked back up again. "And don't hide what you think I can't handle."

"She didn't make the escape."

"Escape?"

"Snape became headmaster after Dumbledore fell. He used his power to take the wards down from the school. We weren't enough to fight off all the Death Eaters, so we ran. We escaped the school and took as many of the Light with us as we could, but it wasn't smooth...we lost people."

"How many?"

"I don't know. Pomfrey...Percy, Filch, and Fang, Madam Hooch, Ernie Macmillan, Dennis Creevey. Pansy Parkinson was killed in the crossfire. They destroyed Ollivander's shop, the Snatchers took him. Fortescue's been destroyed too, but they've put up a Cafe in it's place. Slughorn went missing the moment the wards fell down and Hogsmeade's under curfew. They killed Scrimgeour and Fudge, took over the Ministry. There's a Muggleborn Registry now, they're rounding up muggleborns and blood traitors. Azkaban is under new management and even if you didn't do anything wrong, if you don't pass their blood check, they'll send you there. Snatchers run the streets gathering up the Undesirables. Any children born to muggles or muggleborns that have magic are taken and placed in boarding houses where they will eventually be trained to serve like house elves. The king has got a bunch of them at his manor."

Harry was silent, but his eyes were scanning the room and the walls, the cover over his thin legs and the slightly ajar door. He wasn't reacting, but she knew when he was holding things in, and right now he was fit to bursting.

"Who is the King?"

"Well, the Dark Lord title wasn't enough for him."

"Vol-" With a gasp, Ginny slapped her hand over his mouth and he looked at her in shock.

"His name is Taboo'd. If you say it, it's like turning on a beacon and alerting everyone as to where you are. He's the King, simply, the King." When she was sure he wasn't about to ruin them all with his mouth, she let him go. A slight redness was blooming on his skin. "Sorry for that."

"So, V...the King. What's been happening? Where are we?"

"In Knockturn Alley."

"What?"

"There's a bookstore, Erebus Books. It was abandoned ages ago, but Dumbledore owned it under a different name, and used to use it to help people escape Grindelwald. It was a failsafe in case something went wrong at Hogwarts. McGonagall found the key in Dumbledore's things with instructions if the War went south and we had no choice but to come here when Snape betrayed us. It's home now. I'll show you around when you can walk again."

"Where's Ron?"

"Out. He's talking to spiders."

The look of confusion overcame Harry's face and she realized what she had said.

"Oh, no, he's talking to people with information. They call themselves spiders." She started laughing once she took in what she was saying. Ron, her brother, the one who still screamed if he saw one within five feet of himself, talking to spiders. Harry began to laugh, too.

It didn't last long enough, though, because soon he leveled his gaze at her and she knew what was coming.

"If Ron's talking to spiders, is Hermione failing classes?"

"Not exactly..."

"Don't lie." He reminded her and she took a deep breath.

"Hermione got captured."

"Who's saving her?"

"No one."

"But-?"

"Just...listen." When Harry finally nodded and sat back, she began. She told him of the theft and the kidnapping, of her three days away and her return. She told him about the glamor and the training, about the Obliviate and the persona Hermione was now living. She told him about the point of her being Persephone and what she gained by luring the king to her. She explained the King's court, the Lords, the Ladies, and she explained the pet names. When she finally managed to explain everything, she was both tired and thirsty.

"Hermione is trying to...seduce the king?"

"At least partially...but mostly, according to Moody, she is trying to make him fall in love with her. If he loves her too much to harm her, he is at a disadvantage. He covets that which makes him powerful and I can attest that I was never stronger than when I was loving someone." She avoided his eyes and he chuckled.

"That's why I came back. I heard you calling and I remembered. I remembered the love and the family and I came back for you."

"You came back for _us_." Ginny leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. This time, he returned it.

"I need to prepare."

"You need to sleep."

"I've had enough of the darkness. Can I have my wand?"

"You shouldn't overexert yourself."

"I need my wand." He sounded like he wasn't going to give up until he got what he wanted, so she opened the drawer beside his bed and found his wand. Luckily, he hadn't landed on it and it was intact. Ron had carried it out of Hogwarts. She gave it to him. "Can you tell Moody I want to talk?"

* * *

Rabastan had been taken before. When the First War had failed them and their Lord had vanished, he had been taken. Aurors had come for him and his brother and his sister-in-law and Barty Crouch Junior, and he had been captured in their righteous net. It was nothing new to him to be captive or in a cell. A whole section of his life had been dedicated to being a prisoner. But that had been a long time ago, he had moved on from that life and had made himself better for having experienced it.

His brother, who was probably scouring the earth for him, had spoke to him through their bars, had called out to him and they had assured each other that their reality was still real. But after a decade of not being able to see the person whose voice he heard, Rabastan had begun to doubt that anyone existed besides himself. He was alone and he was lost and there was no one to come and save him. The darkness still got to him.

"What's your plan, then? Going to spring us from this cell, Lestrange?" The voice was coming from the plaid Snatcher and Rabastan had finally gotten tired of calling him that.

"What's your n-n-name?"

"Scabior. Why?"

"I just w-want to know who it is I've b-b-been listening to for the past day." Rabastan uncurled from beside the wall that Moody came through to speak to them. It had no handle and he could see no seam, above them a bright artificial light illuminated them. He had taken the corner by the door-wall and the Snatchers had taken the one opposite while Aela had taken the one nearest him. Rabastan crawled on his hands and knees, half-crouching, to get closer to Scabior.

"What're doing?"

"If I can see you, if I can touch you, you are real. Speak n-now, Scabior." Rabastan sat cross-legged, facing the man. He and his Six sat in circles, always facing one another, always within touching distance, and they spoke to each other often to assure that they were still there. Rabastan took Scabior's hand and eyed him intently.

"Do you...do you have a plan?" It was clear Scabior was uncomfortable, but Rabastan did not care, this practice was for him not for the man. Aela joined him, leaning her head on his shoulder, and Rabastan took her hand as well, pulling her close.

"First w-we must find out what they are capable of, what they w-want of us and how many they are. What use is fleeing a p-p-prison of the Light if you do not trace the brightness to its source? Follow the fire to find the candle, find the candle to find it's bearer."

"Why do I care about any of that?"

"You don't. You don't have to. If you look to m-me to save you, you must find patience as I have patience. You must be strong as I am strong. You must follow as I follow."

"Be one as we are one. Of one mind and one body and one heart." Aela spoke softly, half of herself without her sister. Rabastan wondered who had lived and who had died in their encounter.

"I will not die for this." Greyback grunted in agreement.

"If you do not die at their hands first, and you live long enough to b-b-betray me and mine, I will kill you myself with my hands and m-my teeth. I will eat you as wolves eat scavenger b-birds." Aela smiled for him and Rabastan gave Scabior and Greyback the same cold stare. "You as well, hybrid."

"I won't die for you, but if you free us, I will follow you." The werewolf held out his hand and Rabastan shook it. Scabior tightened his hand in Rabastan's and they shook as well.

* * *

**A/N: **Before this afterword, this chapter was 4,666 words. Quite fitting for the chapter title, right? Hope you're sticking with me, as my conscious mind is realizing my subconscious is Sherlockian and _way_ ahead of it. I hadn't realized that Ron and spider part until I wrote it, then I had to sit there and laugh. Most of this chapter is taking place on the same day and relatively the same time, so Rodolphus would be just setting the warehouse ablaze and taking his new crew to a safe place before heading to the King. Rabastan's part takes place _after _that, in the timeline, probably around the next day or so. Ginny would just be hearing about the capture so her's is roundabout the day before Rabastan's part. I guess Rodolphus, back on track for the last chapter, would be arriving just as Lucius is allowed to leave, with Draco's assistance, which would be an hour after Severus's part above. Persephone and Bellatrix will be ready to give gifts soon. All that will be in the next chapter. Hope my explanation made sense! PM me if it didn't! And don't forget to review. Tickle2Kill.


	28. The World Turns

~*~The World Turns~*~

_The boy's transformation looks promising. It will take a fortnight before he can handle another proper test. Limit his exercises to extremities. Double dose of blood-replenishing mixed with a revitalizer seems to stabilize him but maintains the need for healing magic. Perhaps he is not ready for further change. Perhaps I've been rushing him._

The ink drifted off as though he meant to say more. Voldemort gazed at his own handwriting, the rushed thin letters, the blots, and smirked. It had been far too long since he had been excited about something. Albeit, his success had robbed him of challenge outside of the mundane, but this primal vigor had fled him since he had conquered his biggest enemy.

Maybe it was because he had spent decades struggling against a foe, but he was not as engaged now that there was no test on the horizon. He had no way to grow without adversity, no way to learn his limits and how to expand them. Voldemort was a student of the world, regardless of what title he assumed, and was in no better a place than a classroom. His laboratory had become a sort of island from the trivial dramas he encountered in the foreign realms, where many different faces shouted at him to cease him cancerous regime.

Was he a cancer? How many other men had passed through this mortal life, had taken up the flag he waved, had fought and died for the same values that he carried? Was he so different to them?

Pureblood supremacy had seemed like a distant dream, one hoped but never asked for, for centuries. A thousand other men had stood where he stood and thought what he thought. He was Salazar reborn, but how many others had been reborn before him? He could admit it was not an original cause, but an old and tireless one that should be respected not only for its universal truth, but also for its longevity.

In every species, in order to evolve, there must be an upheaval. It ranged from catastrophic natural events to mass migration to the invention of the written word. All it took was one event and the course of human history changes as though through the turning of a page. The time for upheaval had come again and it was his destiny to ensure that the process went smoothly. There would be blood, and the dead would at one time outnumber the living, but this was part of the process; a step in a complicated potion. For life to develop, death must first come to reap its bounty.

The ignorance of the foreign ministers, and their small-minded notion that the world could be made equal and whole simply by each man embracing the other in harmony, was going to be the undoing of all forward progress. It was the time of evolution and they must learn their place in it or be destroyed.

As Voldemort closed his research notes and left the laboratory, which still smelled faintly of copper, he heard a commotion. The silent children were rushing toward him, which was bizarre in its own right, and many of them were huddling behind him, a couple of the children even clutching his robes. The boy holding his sleeve was the brother of the girl that had taken the killing curse for him, his little sister held his robes at the knee. Perhaps inspired by the actions of those two, more hands pulled at him, hiding behind him like a shield. Not a one of them spoke and he was at a lost as to why they clung to him.

"Release me before I take another part of you." He said it as icily as he could and reached for his wand. The boy had the audacity to look him in the eye when he let go, but it was not anger in his gaze. It was trust.

"Milord!" It came from further down the hall and the children rushed away at the sound of the voice, even the boy. Voldemort, newly frustrated by the oddities of this day, continued to the foyer where Rodolphus Lestrange stood, covered in blood and ash and dirt.

"What has happened?"

"The Light! I told you and you did not listen! All this time beneath our feet and you denied their survival! Your inaction enabled the capture of my brother!"

"Must I remind you to whom you speak?" With ease, he came closer to Rodolphus and laid his hand on the man's shoulder. "Did they take your sense along with your kin?"

The anger and the fear fled the man as he came back to his senses. "Milord, they've taken Rabastan."

"Define 'they'."

"Moody, some Weasleys and the fools he managed to take with him from the Aurors. They ambushed our meeting with the Snatchers who brought us Ollivander. We were outnumbered and they had rigged the warehouse against us."

"Did you take one of theirs?"

"Milord?"

"A captive for a captive. Is it not fair practice?"

"The Light that was left were dead..." Rodolphus ran a hand over his face. "Or I killed them out of fury."

"Your emotions unman you. We could have used a hostage. How many are they?"

"In total, I cannot be sure. We killed seven of theirs and they destroyed the Snatchers. They were waiting for us and they had supplies. They must have been planning this for some time."

"Two thefts a month, every month, for two years. That's forty-eight supply caches, wand shops, bookstores, apothecaries...they've been amassing an arsenal while we slept. Greyback complained that packs were turning against him, the goblins at Gringotts admitted to working with a wizard not of my influence, the giants and the centaurs will not hear me. One thousand, four hundred sixty-one days of scheming and planning." Voldemort couldn't say he was surprised and honestly, he was a little relieved. A little challenge was exactly what he had been missing.

"Milord, what do we do?"

Now that was the question. How best to approach this new little aggravation? He could declare war publically, which had worked for the First War and he had deemed that useless upon the second. He could continue on as though nothing had occurred, while quietly gathering his own army and supplies, just as he had when he regained his body. That seemed the course to take as he had found it much easier to work in the shadows as his enemy was doing now. But Voldemort was master of shadows and he could traverse them unlike any other. Besides, that tactic had been succeeding until the fiasco at the Ministry, which he was certain would not happen again.

"Retrieve your dear wife and find Cerberus. Torture who you must but keep it discreet. Bring me all three heads, alive." He waved his hand and Rodolphus hurried to do as he commanded. A touch to his temple and he knew another of his number was coming. If the Light wanted a war, then they would have one.

* * *

"You shouldn't be out. I don't know what Moody was thinking."

"What, am I invalid because I'm pregnant?"

"I wouldn't have let Fleur come."

"And she would have told you were to stick it."

"As amusin' as this conversation is, why are ya usin' my livin' room for it?"

Tonks uncrossed her arms and Bill held his wand behind his thigh. Colin of Rathangan, an average-sized man, if very fit, with dark auburn hair and curious grey eyes, stood half-naked in the archway between his dining and living room, a mug of coffee in his hand. He had a brand across his chest that looked to have been made by a long piece of metal.

"Annie let us in. She said you wouldn't mind guests." Bill spoke calmly but she could see the training he had in every muscle in his body.

"Well, I didn't let Annie go to a dance with her boyfriend because her marks were horrid, so that tells you how much her word is worth." Colin spoke about his daughter fondly and sipped his coffee. "Well, have a seat and put your wands away. I'll let you say your peace, but don't think you can start duelin' in my house or I'll show you why everyone knows me as the Bonebreaker."

The seats were draped with handmade throws of various color that didn't seem to match the gold walls. The fireplace was low, but the mantle was covered with pictures and awards from Quidditch around the world.

"Did you play?" She asked, pointing at the trophies.

"Oh, yeah. Irish National. Been ten years, though. Do you play?"

"Not really my expertise."

"Better at bein' a lawkeeper. Auror red had to have made your hair hard to look at." He pointed at her hair, which was ruby red. It had been blue just yesterday.

"You know who I am?"

"Nymphadora Tonks, as I hear it, and he's Bill Weasley, the Ghost of Gringotts." Colin wriggled his fingers at them. "Philip said you'd stop by. War on yet?"

"Nearly."

"That's good. I was beginnin' to think you'd given up the cause." He took another sip. "Any particular reason for your visit?"

"Moody thinks the king will be coming to you soon to side you against us in the coming hostilities. He wanted us to have the first word."

"Makes sense, but I don't think you'll convince me one way or the other. I'm not Philip. I don't take sides in spats with wizards, I sit back and let them kill each other, then swoop in and take what they've left behind." He pointed at his trophies. "Worked so well back then that I made it my occupation."

"This could become personal for you." Bill warned and Colin's angular face seemed to become more so as he grinned.

"The Light is goin' to what, kidnap my daughter like you kidnapped Rabastan Lestrange? Who's the dark one, then?"

"The King would do far worse."

"He has done and he will do and two wars haven't stopped him. Do you think another will? Don't know if ya noticed, but I'm Irish. This entire problem is yours not mine. I sell information when the price is right and I stay outta political fights."

"If you won't join us, then we are here to convince you to not join the King."

"Did ya not hear what I said? I don't take sides. Last time I was on a team, the captain made sure I got bludgeoned so bad that I couldn't play anymore. My wife left me and every witch and wizard from this side to the other knew my name: Colin the Cripple. Every man for himself, I say."

"So you won't aid the King?"

"I'll aid who I like and cripple those I don't. It won't matter if you're wearing dark blue robes or black ones. It won't matter if you've got a snake and skull tattoo or a pretty little butterfly. This is your war and your land. I don't need to risk a damn thing to support either army. Now, it's very early and I've got things to do." Colin stood and shook their hands. "Get the fuck outta my house."

* * *

The Nest was still the meeting place for them, but Severus knew they would have to change that soon if what he had heard was true. He had left the King's manor and had went back to Hogwarts to finish up his modifications to the statues and listening devices he had scattered around. He had spent his day closing up shop so that he would have nothing unfinished before he had to leave for France.

He would have to broach the subject with Persephone, but he just didn't want to put himself around her. He had sworn to not love her until this war was over and he was going to stick that out. Besides, she had yet to call on the King and that was no way to go about winning his heart. Now, though, Severus was not so sure that that plan was going to work.

Rabastan Lestrange kidnapped and in front of Rodolphus Lestrange at that! According to the rumors he had woken up to the next day, Moody, Ron and Bill Weasley had all been identified in the kidnapping. Fenrir Greyback had been taken as well. How did Moody think to win a war with foolish actions like this?

The man in question came through the door of the Nest with a hop in his limping step.

"Ah, Slayer. Do you have that information you said you had ready for us?"

"Are you mad? I didn't realize I was signing myself up for suicide!"

"It is under control."

"How? You kidnapped one of the King's loyal number, let your faces be seen, and let a formidable member of the Death Eaters get away. I fail to see how any of this is under control."

"This was planned. We've been working for years on this. We've got supplies, we've got the numbers, we've got allies outside of the refuge and within Court. Half the world's against him and he was almost killed by the killing curse at his own manor. Now is the time."

"You don't have the numbers or the supplies. Hermione told me-"

"She told you what she knew. She thought we were running out of supplies faster than we could store them, but really we were stockpiling them. Life in the refuge is heaven compared to what it could be and everyone eats their fill. Not a single soul goes without and if they do it is by choice."

"You've been lying to your own about that as well?" Severus could hardly believe that there was so much the Auror hadn't told anyone about anything and even the members that were willing to give up the most for the Light.

"I told them what they needed to hear to get the job done. Two years of a steady income of everything we would need to fight the King, allies both inside and outside the refuge. We are more than ready for whatever the King has to offer. Now, that information."

"The king will be suspicious of Hermione now. It will not go unnoticed that the moment she comes to Court an attempt is made on his life, I've been more alive, and then Rabastan Lestrange is captured by upstanding members of the Light thought vanquished. Questions will be asked that I cannot answer. If he finds even a shred of proof that Persephone is a falsity, he will torture her until she dies. He will come for me next and no amount of loyalty will save me." Severus did not truly care that his life would be forfeit, but he found himself terrified that Hermione would die, never knowing that she was not some pureblood named Persephone Damasca.

"It is under control. He will not find out about her and she will be the calm hand he needs now that everything is stirring. You will see." Moody held out his hand for the information and Severus let him have it.

"I'm going to France, today. I'll be gone as long as it takes to convince Ariel Boudin that the King is worth following."

"Why don't you convince him to believe in the Light? If you want to help us end this, give us the means of his destruction." The old Auror left him standing there and Severus wondered, not for the first time, what exactly he was willing to give up for this.

* * *

Severus had no owls and neither did Persephone, so it was a welcome change to see one fly through the open window of her room and come to rest on her cluttered desk. It had a note attached to its leg, one with a somewhat royal seal. She was quick to open it.

"_Miss Damasca,_

_Since you bear no mark of my design and Severus is undoubtedly busy preparing for his departure to France, I am forced to write you. This owl is swift and proficient so this should reach you before noon._

_I require your presence as soon_ _as you are able. The children are adamant that you return and I am loathe to deny them. I have prepared a meal for you and the children should you wish to dine with them. There are thirty-two_ _of them, so be warned._

_Your sovereign lord, V._"

"It's about time." She was not about to call on the King since she was meant to be fetching and desirable but decidedly not interested in him beyond how he pertained to Severus.

The king must, in his own time, desire her presence. Which was highly inconvenient as it was subject to his whims and she was not sure she could predict those as well as Severus'. The space around her heart still ached when she thought of Severus and she hurried to get ready to see the king. But what was the mention of Severus and France? He had told her no such thing...she hadn't even seen him since their fight. Perhaps it was for the best now.

Persephone knew that the king had been baiting her by mentioning the children and she was not ashamed to say that it had worked. She wanted to see them and make sure they were healthy and happy. She felt obligated to them.

Her closet contained many different things, but she wanted a certain kind of attire. She must proclaim her eligibility while remaining distantly unclaimable, appear as radiant as a queen, but also as loving as a mother. This was difficult to achieve and took her another hour to put together.

She ended up settling with silk witches robes in a soft purple that held her breasts without drawing too much attention to them and fluttered loosely from beneath them to brush her toes. She wore shoes that were easy to kick off should she need to get comfortable around the children and shorts beneath her robes should she need to tie the skirt up and run after them.

The king, despite calling on her, was still not her main focus. Or at least he could not appear to be.

The crown sat in an unassuming box, polished to a light shine to counter its rustic exterior. It was charmed to fit the first person to wear it and remain that size for the duration of its existence. She hoped it was well-received.

When she arrived at the King's manor, her cloak keeping her warm in the frigid wind and fat snowflakes falling into her face at an angle, she was more than prepared for this.

The children greeted her before the king could, smiling and swarming around, each one demanding more attention than the last. Their hands were hot on her skin and she returned their smiles with genuine happiness.

"Hello, darlings. Are you well?"

"M-m-mummy!"

Tears were suddenly in her eyes but it wasn't because of contentment. A sadness gripped her heart because she knew these children's parents were likely dead, in Azkaban, or so far away they could not find a way back. Half of the children were ten or younger, the oldest couldn't have been more than thirteen. They weren't in school and none of them had wands, they were housed here but they were not really being looked after.

"Mother, now?" The king was quiet and he seemed to form like a vapor from the shadows. "Mother of mudbloods."

"Do you teach them, my king?" She did not respond to the title as part of her felt an indignant pride at being called as such.

"They are mudbloods, they know all they need to know with a mop and bucket."

"Your teachers taught you the same way?" Her anger seeped into her tone but she did not regret it.

"Are you implying I am not pureblooded?"

"You cannot test blood for purity, my king, because it does not exist. It is a dream of insecure men who have nothing better to do than persecute others. Or of entitled men who think themselves high enough to decide another's fate. It would not matter if you were half-blood, because it is not blood that dictates our destiny."

"My servants do not talk to me that way."

"Good thing I am not your servant, then." The children seemed frightened and Persephone did not break the king's gaze to look at them. The king grinned.

"You overvalue yourself."

"As do you."

"I am the King of Britain."

"And I am the Mother of mudbloods."

"Yes, you are." The king gestured behind him. "Dinner awaits you."

"Thank you." The children guided her past the king and their gaze fell.

The boy holding her left hand looked up at her and he was smiling so wide that his eyes crinkled in the corners. He began to tell her, in slow, halting sentences, all that she had missed she they had buried Virginia. His name was Cadeyrn and his little sister was Vanessa. She had lost a tooth just yesterday and he had been telling her about the tooth fairy because Vanessa was still young enough to believe in that kind of magic.

Persephone was supposed to be pureblood but she understood the difference in muggle magic and her own. She knew that sometimes belief was more powerful than possession. She leaned down to Vanessa as they settled around the long table and told her a grand story of the trip the tooth fairy would have to take to get her tooth. The rest of the children listened eagerly.

The king watched them silently, a pensive look on his serpentine face. Every once in a while, between pauses she took for dramatic effect, she would look up at the king and smile. Her tale stretched beyond the first course, helped along by the many questions the children asked, and she began to spin another tale from within that one, linking the tooth fairy and the fairy godmother from Cinderella. Her new epic awed the children and they ate with wide eyes as she painted a rich fairy kingdom and its denizens, where the fairy godmother was an outcast who favored humans over her own kind and sought to bring happiness to them, despite stringent laws against using magic for undeserving humans. It was midway through her explanation of how the godmother had acquired a wand after her own had been broken, that the king interrupted.

"A grand tale, but the children must finish their own chores and go to bed." The children groaned, if quietly, and Vanessa bounced over to the king with a pout. She tugged on his sleeve, speaking gibberish as she was trying to say a whole lot in one breath, and smiled at him. He shook his head. "It is late."

"I can continue the tale another time, yes?" Persephone asked, hoping she could help the king get the children to bed. The king waved his long fingered hand imperiously and the children clapped. Vanessa pressed a kiss to the king's pale hand and darted off with Cadeyrn and the rest of them after they had all been hugged and kissed goodnight by Persephone.

A warm silence dominated the room after the children had left and Persephone sighed.

"Thank you for this. I do not have much to do at home and I am grateful for the children. You're good to keep them safe."

"I am not good." He said it with derision. "I am evil and that is not a shameful identity. It is what I am and have always been."

"I do not believe you." She looked him in the eye, sipping the red wine she still had left in her cup. The king had not eaten much, and what he had eaten had been taken slowly.

"It has been a night of tales. Shall we have another?" The king sat forward, crossing his arms on the table before him. The elves had cleared away the silverware and the decorations, leaving only two tall candles to light the space around them. It made the shadows darker behind the king's head and gave him an air of mystery.

"I would welcome any tale you would gift me with."

"It is curious what you perceive as gifts. That box you brought with you is a gift as well?" When she nodded, he chuckled coldly. "For the children?"

"For you." Her glass made a distinct clink as she set it down. "After your tale, I will give it to you."

"I could demand it now."

"And I could refuse you. A gift, my king, is not required of any person and can be denied at the giver's whim. I put effort and thought in yours, please do not make me throw it away." She granted him another smile and gestured for him to continue.

"I grew up in an orphanage." He began, a wry smirk on his face. "A filthy muggle one, far from the grandeur I have acquired. My father was unknown to me then and my mother was rumored to have been a circus performer who died giving birth to me. The woman who ran the orphanage told me that my mother had made sure to brand me with a name before her weakness claimed her and it was this name that I came to despise."

"What was that name, milord?"

"Tom. Unimaginative, plain, and little. Three letters to encompass all that I was and would be, to identify my power and my mind. Tom, like a back alley cat that no one chose to adopt, a beggar on the street that was content with crumbs, a martyr for the faith of a dead man's blood. I was to carry that name like the brand she meant it as, a sign to all who would know me that I was born of the wretched and the unworthy, that I was an anonymous soul destined for a nameless occupation and a silent passing through life because I was no one. The last gift my mother gave me was obscurity."

"Surely she did not mean it as a slight against you. Tom is a strong name, carried by strong men who did amazing things with what time a mortal life affords us."

"A mortal life like hers? She was of Salazar's blood. We are not mortal who come from such ancient magic, we are the first immortals and we shall be the last to succumb to death. But my mother succumbed and she forfeited her place in the honor of our ancestor, she gave up all of that for the love of another. The love of a man that had left her and remarried before she could grow cold, before I could take my first breath.

"It was his name she gave me. A reminder, perhaps, of her love but a token for me of the man that slew her before my birth could harm her. I was named for her murderer and her father, both men unworthy of a claim to me. I thought myself pointless for many years, until one day, in my anger, I made things move and twist to please me and I knew then what my purpose was. I was powerful, I was strong and I was more than three letters on a piece of paper. When I was old enough, a man came for me. He was the first man to come for me alone and I thought of him as a savior once he had proven he was also like me. I thought he could show me power...but there are some things one must learn on their own.

"I excelled when I was out from underneath the shadow of mediocrity and I sought out the bloodlines of my parents. First, I looked to my father as all patriarchal minded do, but I found nothing in the whole of the records of him. He was no wizard and he possessed no power on this earth beyond the might of the love my mother felt for him and he had wielded that like a sword. So next I looked to my mother, the last of my desires and here I found my lineage. I trudged through the mud of incestuous marriage and debauchery, of fraud and of the squandering of all their gold and status. I traced the horrid smear to the father of my line, to Salazar Slytherin himself."

"You're the heir to the the line of Slytherin?" She stared at him with wonder, with awe, and she gave voice to her musings. "No one could have looked down on you, then. You were of the noblest blood."

"I was of half-filth. I was the mere reflection of his disgusting visage and I was no noble. I had not earned that title...not yet." He leaned back and she followed him, scooting closer with her chair to hear more.

"What did you do?"

"I swam up from the depths of the mud surrounding me, climbed above the heads of those that would name me less than them and I enthroned myself at the height of the world. Along the way I cut the parts of my father and his kind from my body and my soul. I erased him so I could place myself on the page of time and no one would remove me. No one could."

"Erased him? How?"

"I tracked him down. I found him and his parents in their manor and I released them from the bonds of mortality. I searched out my mother's brother and, having found the hovel in which they had been reduced, I released him as well. I left a trail of the dead through the streets to mark my footsteps." He held her eyes as though to delve into them. "You see, I am not a good man."

She was quiet. Persephone wanted to ask a question but she wasn't sure how to. Instead, she spoke.

"You keep these children. You take care of them and I have not seen you lift a finger to harm them. You are not as evil as you believe yourself to be." She was close to him and he reached out, pressing a hand to her cheek and pulling her nearer.

"I keep them for political reasons," he spoke in a whisper, his breath both sweet and sour brushing by her skin. "but when these children you love so much become a burden and not a boon, I will set them loose on the grounds and I will hunt them one-by-one, ripping them limb from limb, from eldest to youngest. And when only one child is left, that sweet little girl you spun a tale of fairies for, I will make her gather the pieces together into a pyre and I shall burn her alive on it. Do you believe me now?"

His hand was rough against her cheek and she was trembling. Tears had welled up in her eyes and she was reminded of what her fear tasted like. The blood red eyes that bored into her own were shining with victory and she tried to stem the tears from falling but a few escaped. Her hand rose to the one at her cheek and she held it. Held it because that meant it was real and alive, that meant it could die. Persephone gasped in a breath, trying to steady herself so her voice wouldn't break, but she knew it would anyway.

"You delight in mocking the love of others because you do not possess it yourself. That does not make you an evil man, it makes you a lonely one." She turned her head and kissed the king's palm. "A lonely man and an atrocious king."

"Atrocious?" He breathed, eying her.

"Your pride is larger than your sense and you strut about like an emperor while every minister from here to Albania laugh at you in their firewhiskys. If more of your loyalists told the truth, Severus wouldn't need to be so far from home cleaning up a mess you made. Do you think a serving army of children will convince men who survived the muggle World Wars and Grindelwald that you are any different than the last pig-headed conquering villain? And if you kill them now that you've broadcasted their existence to the world, they will only see you as a coward child-killer or an insane wizard with homicidal tendencies that wants to employ mass amounts of 'labor camps' for muggleborn children. It has been done, I will have you know, by a muggle. Your former allies will not forget that. So long as you declare peace with a clenched fist, war will rage on." She glared at him, trying with all her might to ensure he knew how she loathed him for his earlier threat against her children.

"And what would you have me do?" It was the second time he had asked her that and she thought before she spoke.

"You must appear as more than an unfeeling, narcissistic sovereign. There is more to you than even you know." She reached out and gripped the king's face as he held hers. "Your hatred cripples you. You are just as wounded as I thought."

A look came over the king's face and he shoved her away. Her chair fell sideways and she caught herself on her knees. The king was standing and she used the table to rise herself.

"It should be frightening to you how quickly you lose your common sense. I will return when you have regained it." She spun and made her way out, taking her cloak from the hook right before the door. Persephone opened the door, but it was snatched out of her hands and closed with force by the king's magic. She looked over her shoulder at him, where he stood with his hand in the air. He had obviously commanded the door closed wandlessly.

"I did not dismiss you."

"I am not yours to dismiss."

"You are beneath my roof, on my land and you are involved with one of my own. You _are_ mine to command."

"Is that what you think?" She could feel her whole body change as she filled with rage. The door was forgotten and she faced the king, dropping her cloak.

"It is what I know."

"You know nothing. I bear no mark, I answer to no king and I go where I please as I please. The respect I have shown you thus far was but a courtesy, nothing more. You presume all living beings will rise to serve you. You are gravely mistaken."

"I could destroy you utterly."

"I'd like to see you try. I am the only one besides Severus to speak to you as you should be spoken to. The only one willing to see your faults for what they are. I do this because I am not a servant. I do not live to make you happy. I live to continue to do so until I achieve something more profound. But you have ceased living in exchange for the excuse of an immortal life. And it has stolen the one thing, the only thing, worth having."

"And what is that?"

"Love." The king scoffed at her, folding his hands before him condescendingly.

"Every speech is reduced to love. You possess no other tool?"

"It is the sharpest one and, in its truest form, is more powerful than the darkest curse. Love is why I did not succumb to the misfortune of my family. Love is why I do not run from your broken face, how it reflects your soul, because I am made strong by the love of my family, of Severus. Do not doubt love."

"I do not doubt it, I simply do not believe. It is nothing more than a dream. A phantom in the shadows that all good men chase. Dumbledore chased love, as did that boy, but they are all dead now. The few that fight me will fall because they love. Every single light in the world will go out and what will love be then?"

"The one thing you won't have." Persephone picked her cloak up from the floor and left, not once looking back to the king. She vanished into the night.

* * *

A/N: I'm not sure I'm satisfied with this one, but I don't know what else to add to it, so I'm going to leave it as is. Tonks and Bill would be visiting Rathangan the morning after the kidnapping, and Severus would be meeting with Moody around the same time. Persephone would be going to the king's that night. Everyone should be on the same day or roundabouts in the next chapter. Tell me what you think, please review. Tickle2Kill.


	29. Cutthroat

~*~Cutthroat~*~

He was strong, the transformations had helped him with that, but the weight of his father had almost been too much. There had been blood, but beneath that was urine and sweat and he could sense a faint scent of shame. It wasn't the first time he had had to carry his father from the king's manor and it was also not the first time that his father had been wet with more than blood and tears.

When he was young, he would have looked at his father with disdain, would have called him weak and he would have berated him for failing the king. Now, he was caught in a maelstrom of fear, panic and hatred. This time had lasted longer than the others. This time had been too close to that cliff, too close to that edge from which there was no turning back. He had asked to be punished in his father's stead so that he may never have to witness what he had witnessed two days ago.

Draco stood at the foot of his father's bed, looking down at the small, pale, man who had once been so regal and so brave. The king had taken it all away, had raised his hand and wiped it clean off his father's shoulders with one more task, one more threat, one more curse. The husk of a man laid out before him, breathing shallowly so as not to upset his already festering wounds, was the result of the king's ire. It was also the proof of the king they stood for, because no matter how loyal or how true one was, they still received the same fate as an enemy. No one mattered to the king except himself.

His father turned in his fitful sleep and aggravated his chest wounds. He made a low groan, but it was a borderline cry and there were tears streaming out of his closed eyes. Draco tried to soothe him but there was little to be done. It was dark magic that had torn apart his flesh and it would take days of steady treatments to bring him back to rights. The black magic oozed out of his father's flesh like fat leeches once the antidote was applied and his dressings had to be changed hourly.

His mother had tried to bring healers in, but Draco had failed his father yet again and he refused to let anyone near him. He hovered over him like a cloud and jolted at the slightest sound, easing him through the nightmares that overwhelmed his feverish mind. Draco hadn't slept since he had brought his father home and his body was protesting such use so soon after a transformation, but he would not simply sleep the days away while his father lay in torment from a torture that had only just begun.

Some moments were better than others, but hours passed with Draco cradling his father and trying to use the ancient magic the king had taught him to ease the pain. Golden light would erupt from his fingers as he sang the old words and he would blend them through the bandages over his father's heart, through his father's hair and deep into his father's sleeping mind. His mother would only cry when she saw it, so he asked that she stay away until he was done.

Severus had been there when he had awoken to find the king torturing his father. The man had intervened on their behalf and he was grateful, but the consequences were devastating. If this magic did not claim his father in the night, then his godfather's failure would. Not that he did not believe that Severus could complete the task his father hadn't, but there had been no luck in their family for so long he feared the worst from any outcome.

The cloth around his father's left arm was blackening and Draco moved to that side to tend to the wound. He removed the bandages and brought new ones, reaching over to the bedside table for the pure blue potion that coaxed the magic out.

"Father," he laid his hand above the yawning slashes drawn across his father's arms, letting the potion that would cure him drip from his fingers. It would seep downwards into the flesh and drive the blackness out, but first he had to lather it on. "Please forgive me. This will hurt."

He spread the potion throughout the inside of the wound and slowly added more until he was able to massage it out across the healthy skin. Once he was done, he wrapped the new bandage over it.

"Thank you." The voice was hoarse from all the screaming and his lips were still swollen from where he had been kicked. His throat worked and he swallowed but it seemed to pain him. It should, seeing as there were rope-like lesions over his trachea.

"Don't speak, you'll only further injure yourself. Would you like something to drink?" Draco pretended he was dealing with someone else, a stranger, because it hurt too much for it to be otherwise. His father nodded and he laced water with a soothing potion before helping his father to drink it.

"I'm going to leave soon." He told him, watching the bruised and cut throat roll with each gulp. "Once all the blackness is gone, I'm going to go."

"Don't..."

"I must. I told you once that I would tear this world apart for my family and I do not speak lightly about such things. The Light survived. They kidnapped Rabastan Lestrange. They've made a move on the big board and now so shall I."

"What will you do?"

Draco met his father's eyes, which were just like his own and smirked so that he would not weep. He had been so afraid that during one of the curses the king had sent, his father would succumb and give in as he had been tempted to so much lately. But he didn't want the last time he saw his father alive to be when the man was broken, bleeding, curled up on the floor like a beaten dog. He didn't want to remember his father at a madman's feet, unable to move out of fear and magic, unable to beg for mercy.

"I've got a hunch and I'm going to follow it."

* * *

The box was sitting on the table outside the dining room and none of the children had touched it. It's bow was still tied and he had ignored it for as long as he could, but curiosity got the better of him. He had been thinking of her far too often and if he caught a glimpse of one of the children he was reminded of something she had said or a look she had given him over their heads that reminded him that she knew something he didn't, possessed something he couldn't.

She spoke to him like an equal and he was furious that he had not been more forceful with her. Persephone Damasca needed to learn that she was an insignificant being with no true purpose and he was king of Britain, heir of Slytherin, the greatest wizard that ever lived. She did not compare to him in the slightest. She was a self-righteous child full up with stupidity for having the nerve to think herself worthy of anything but a swift death.

And yet, he wanted to unravel her cool demeanor, her bravado, and unearth the core of her. Beneath that assurance must be some doubt. No man he had ever encountered could be truly confident without a secret center that housed their insecurities. Persephone Damasca had to be the same.

He tried to ignore the box as he passed through the manor, but it pricked at the back of his mind like Potter had once. The similarities between this woman and that boy were unnerving to him. What other likenesses did they have? Aside from her eyes and her tenacity, she held him in contempt without having known him personally for more than a fortnight, she did not fear him so much as loathe him, she had an air about her at all times that announced her goodness in his dark realm, she was an orphan and she reached out to him as though she could save him from himself.

_I feel sorry for you_, the boy had said to him and he remembered that voice as though he was standing right next to him. A cloying happiness had filled the boy's voice and the memories, the absolute_ joy,_ had thrown him from his possession. There was no pain so great as the suffocating wholeness and love that emitted from the boy's memories. Just like his mother, he had been aided by the power of love.

_You've wounded yourself worse than death ever could_, it was said with the same sort of pity as though he was not a wizard to be feared, but a broken man that didn't realize he was broken. She had held a hand over his heart as if she could reach through him because he was so vulnerable. She had touched him as though he were already dead.

How could anyone look at him and feel any sort of pity? He had defeated death and Dumbledore, he had claimed Britain, he could crush every wizard who challenged him. What was there to pity? But it wasn't only pity in Persephone's gaze, it was grief; not only for her family but for the world and, sickeningly, for him. She grieved for him like he was that girl with her blank grey eyes, like he was the corpse of a dear friend.

It wasn't the presence of mourning that had sent rare fear through him, it was the certainty in her gaze, in her stance, in her very being that declared with sorrowful finality that he was already gone. She watched him like a guardian angel leading its charge, hopelessly in denial, to the afterlife. He was dead to her even as he walked and talked. He was one of those pale, decomposing corpses beneath the glassy black water of that cave beyond the tumultuous sea. He was rotting before her eyes and she was _sorry_, so incredibly_ sorry_, for him.

He had seen such honesty in her gaze that for a split second he had believed her. Voldemort had believed for all of a heartbeat that he was dead. He could not even describe the fear. It had been so long since he had truly been afraid that he had underestimated the sway it held over him. And he had run from her, had run from the gentle touch she offered, because it was a touch that made it all too clear that the only reason he had any animation was because she gave it to him. In her eyes, he was the insignificant being with no purpose and she was the powerful creature full of love and light and glory. She reigned over him.

Voldemort found himself in front of the box, which he felt was eerily staring back, and could take it no longer. With a wave of his hand, he set it on fire. It burned bright and quick, the smoke filling the room slowly. As the box melted away, he saw a hint of metal and in the cage of it, a note. It took less than a second to snuff the flames and he reached into the cage for the note. As he retracted his hand, the note caught on the metal and sent it tumbling loudly to the floor. He did not give it much heed as he turned instead to the small note.

_I can give you little, and what I can give is poor,_

_A crown for a king with a throne and little more._

_For the times we women cannot swoop to your side,_

_An enchantment so no mortal assassin may hide._

Voldemort glanced at the metal on the floor and summoned it to him. The designs had been painstakingly made and ancient runes had been carved into the band while the spiky peaks were sharp. He could feel no darkness from the grey crown and in confidence that it would not harm him he settled it on his head. It held him comfortably, and he could feel magic kicking in.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" Voldemort could feel the crown tingle at the thought of the spell. It could sense the dark magic he invoked. It was fast and consistent enough that he could dodge as soon as the spell was spoken. It would help in the future.

"King! King!" He spun to the little girl behind him. He hadn't heard her approach. She was short, even for her age, with thick little legs and a round face framed by long auburn locks that coiled wildly around themselves. No other children were around.

"What do you want, you little urchin?"

"When will Mummy come home? I want to hear the rest of the story."

"She isn't your _mummy_."

"Of course she is." The girl skipped forward and kissed his hand again. "And you're my daddy."

Voldemort wasn't sure exactly what he felt in that moment, but it translated into anger. He raised his wand, thinking to make good on his promise of burning her alive, when her brother ran by and lead her away. The boy met his eyes again and he wanted to end him right at that very moment, but he let him leave. When he did clear this house of mudbloods, their dear mother would be present. She would watch them all die and he would laugh over their bodies.

_Queen of Death. You will deserve that title in time, won't you?_

* * *

Neville, Moody and Professor McGonagall were deep in the woods, beyond a small town with a big name, and the sun shone down heavily on them. Somewhere in this maze of trees and walking paths was the location of three very important people. It had been only too easy to get the Snatchers to give up what information they knew. The Galleons had been put into the Light's coffers and they had had ceremonies for those they had lost. Now, it was time to capitalize on their head-start, before the king overtook them in his fury.

Bill Weasley had narrowed the goblin down to a name: Griphook. The goblin had been travelling with Tonks' father when the Snatchers had killed the man and when Dean had only narrowly escaped with the grievous injury to his leg. According to Dean, Griphook had refused to serve wizards that declared themselves his masters and with Bill's help, had spirited out those of his kin that felt the same. It earned Bill the title, _Ghost of Gringotts_, because he could traverse the halls without being seen and pass through solid walls. Well, at least that was the rumor. Bill was busy travelling the country to meet with contacts of theirs before the king's poison could get to them, but he had demanded that Griphook be brought back alive and in one piece.

Horace Slughorn was their former Potions Master, but he was also a friend of Dumbledore's and a formidable wizard when he was not running for his life. Moody hoped they could convince the man that aiding the Light was more to his benefit than fleeing the war and being caught by all sorts of ruffians who would only leave him alive enough to identify and fulfill the bounty requirements. They could use his connections and his name was enough to curry favor in almost every circle, because he had helped half the politicians, athletes, and landowners get where they are today. There was the added gem of the fact that if they saved his life he would owe them and Moody was all too ready to call on that debt.

Their third intended target to rescue was one Dolores Umbridge. Neville knew her all too well and he wasn't at all pleased to risk his neck for her. She had tormented them throughout their fifth year and when the King had taken over, she had tried to sell them out from the inside. She had been working with Rita Skeeter to reveal anyone that even mildly supported the Light, using the Daily Prophet as a giant bounty board for the whole of the world. It had been working for a year and a half, until Skeeter had gotten greedy and tricked Umbridge into an incriminating situation that had put her on the list of Undesirables. She had been trying to convince anyone who would listen that she was a cousin to the Selwyns, but no one believed her and she had been captured a month ago. The only reason she wasn't rotting in a royal dungeon was because the Snatchers that had her were trying to haggle a higher asking price for her head.

"Minerva, can you scout ahead?" Moody asked, crouching behind a tall tree as they approached the small camp where the Snatchers had been. The fire was left untended and the tarp over the cave entrance was worse for wear, but they couldn't be too careful.

Neville had never really gone on a mission with his former Transfiguration Professor, mostly because he and Hermione had gone on every mission together and he only had experience worked with her. His world had become either working with her, working alone, or on really good nights with Luna he would lay outside on one of the many roofs of Knockturn's slums and stare up at the bright shining stars, trading stories about before the Siege. Luna would talk about the house she lived in with her father, would talk about how she had decorated her walls with pictures of them to remind her that she had friends. Sometimes she would even open up enough to tell him about her mother. On those nights, he felt like they were the only two people on earth and he would finally be able to let go of all the painful moments when his own parents would look through him as though he didn't exist because they didn't remember having a son. He would let it all out and he would cry because it hurt so much to watch all the anger and bitterness boil into a sort of indescribable heartache that stretched wide inside him like a dark, endless chasm.

Hermione had been there in place of Luna when the latter was busy helping someone and he would lean into her embrace like a lost little boy, safe in the knowledge that she wouldn't think him weak because of his tears. Hermione had been a sister to him and they had bonded so much over the course of their severely altered lives. That chasm in his chest pulsed with darkness at the thought of losing her, of losing one more loved one. He had almost lost her to Bellatrix Lestrange, just as he had lost his parents, back during the Siege. He could remember like it was still happening, the screams and the taunting, that evil voice cooing as though to quiet a disgruntled baby. Neville had been unable to ignore it and for one fleeting moment had thought to kill the witch then and there so that she could never torture another human being again.

But he was of the Light, so he simply got her away from Hermione and then got Hermione out of the room. They had run so fast to get away that he could hardly breathe, but they were never just schoolmates from that moment on.

"There's a small opening up by that tree. I'll see what's inside."

Neville had never gotten used to seeing her transform and she did it as though it was just another step forward. One moment a powerful witch was before him with a slight disapproving scowl that never really left her face, and the next there was a tabby cat with strange markings around its eyes, stalking up to the camp and sprinting through it. She climbed the tree as easy as a feline, her claws digging into the bark, and vanished into a small hole. They waited, tense, before she returned, crawling on her belly to make it back through the hole and leaping out into the air. As she landed, she regained her human form and it was ruffled. Dirt and twigs were in her hair and her robes were filthy with reddish mud and cobwebs.

"What did you find?" Moody asked her, stepping into the camp.

"It's a cave system. They all branch off from the central cavern. Most likely booby-trapped. If we go now, I can sweep the place for their locations." She appeared to be ready to get this over with and Neville couldn't agree more.

"Let's do it before the sun goes down."

They weaved their way through the front entrance, a narrow opening in the stone face, and immediately downward. The path curved this way and that, leading them deep into the earth beneath the giant boulder that had been surrounded by trees of all kinds. There was a wet dripping sound coming from their left and it splashed into a small pool of cold melting snow by a small fissure in the ceiling. The central cavern wasn't very big, no more than the Gryffindor common room and there were buckets and boxes littered about like tables and chairs. A deck of wizard cards lay forgotten, a knife planting a tattered card to the table face down. Along one side, a bit of the wall was blown out. Neville wondered if they were trying to expand the space and for what reason.

"The first of the traps are here, I believe." She waved her wand in a pattern Neville had only seen Bill do so fluidly and a small set of glowing red lights appeared on the floor. "We need to dismantle these as we go along."

"I'll help." Neville said, stepping forward.

It took half an hour to make their way down one long path, which only led them to the makeshift loo. They cleared each path until they had found bedrooms, storage areas and a training hall. Midway through their exploration, Moody had called on a few of his Aurors and they were carting the supplies and information out of the storage back to the refuge. The steady stream of people moving in and out of the cave helped ease the tension of the silence and they made their way down the last hall quickly. They came to a dead end, but McGonagall paused.

"There are wards around this wall. At least five of them." She cast spells around them so quickly that the space shone like a second sun and set to work.

As McGonagall was picking apart the wards, a loud rumble echoed out from down the corridor and the Aurors screamed. Moody took off immediately, but Neville hesitated. It wasn't normal for him to leave someone behind. He wouldn't have left Hermione if she hadn't told him to go and he wasn't about to leave his former Professor. She didn't seem to notice him for a while, but then she jerked her head.

"As much as your worry touches me, Mister Longbottom, I am sure your talents are needed elsewhere." She eyed him pointedly and he nodded.

"Be safe and call out if something goes wrong."

"Of course."

Neville hurried back the way that had come, his wand at the ready, listening keenly to the sounds of struggle that seemed to only grow in volume as he neared. Spells were flying everywhere once he made it back to the central cavern and he ducked beneath a Killing Curse that rebounded off the wall and into an Auror that was wrestling with a masked Death Eater. The Death Eater groaned, rolling to her feet and Neville shot out, catching the woman around the shoulder, using his momentum to knock her wand loose and he set his wand against her throat.

"_Petrificus Totalus Aeterna_!" He whispered, letting the statue-like Death Eater fall to the side. Neville had to dodge sideways to avoid yet another Killing Curse and he crawled from the ground to all fours, running with his fingertips against the stone floor to steady him, casting the same spell at the nearest enemy. Another body fell to the floor like a rock and he shielded Moody from an oncoming curse before tackling another Death Eater to the floor. A sharp pain flared in his back, but he gave it no thought.

A fist flew into his face and Neville only slightly parried it, pressing the man into the ground as he punched back. He hit right at the kidneys, like Hermione had taught him, and was awarded with a gasping cry.

"You filthy piece of shit!" The man yelled at him and Neville's training went out the window. The man he was pinning to the ground was none other than Rodolphus Lestrange. Fear creeped up his spine, right by the stabbing pain, and Lestrange shoved him off, pinning him instead. Neville struggled against the hand around his throat, kicking and biting, his wand forgotten on the floor a foot away. Lestrange was trying to break his neck, he could feel the force being used and though he could barely breathe, Neville focused.

He and Hermione had trained for months, put themselves through horrible scenarios so that they wouldn't choke when the moment came and their life was on the line for real. He had been nearly asphyxiated before and he had still managed to recover enough to win that duel. Besides, he would become a Dark Lord himself before he fell to a Lestrange. Neville gave his entire mind to his attack, feeling the magic well up in him eagerly. He went limp beneath Lestrange's hand, save for his own which he placed against the man's chest.

_Incarcerous!_

The spell worked immediately and Neville kicked as hard as he could when the ropes began tightening around Lestrange until the man couldn't move. Using wandless, wordless magic was incredibly hard to do and he could already feel the strain of it.

"_Accio!_" He hissed at his wand and sighed when it flew into his hand. He went to curse Lestrange with the same thing he'd used for that woman Death Eater but the man had vanished. The fight was still raging however and he saw Moody was kneeling, blood pouring out of his neck. Neville flew, fluid and nimble, a wraith across the small space. He removed the curse as best he could, he was no healer, and stitched up the wound with field healing magic. "_Ferula!_" He secured the bandages and moved on.

Blood was coating his fingers and he could feel the cold of the snow puddle seeping into his trousers, but he had no time to worry about being wet. The Aurors were keeping the Death Eaters at bay and Moody was back to dueling, so he scanned the crowd for a place he could be of the most use. A couple Death Eaters had broke off from the group and were headed down the corridor where McGonagall was. Neville signalled Moody and followed behind them quickly.

They knew he was there, but they only cast curses back at him, speeding forward. He was running, feeling like it was another one of those times when something was about to go horribly wrong. Fear was still riding his adrenaline and he lashed out.

_Stupefy! Incarcerous!_

It was much less taxing to use just wordless magic and he used his second spell as a sort of lasso, looping it around the unconscious Death Eater's neck and yanking him backwards as he collapsed down. He repeated his rope spell, catching the second Death Eater at the ankle and he deliberately fell backwards to use his entire body weight against the man. His own ankle snapped as he fell and he muffled a scream with his own bicep, trying not to let go of the rope. White hot pain was throbbing through his leg, but he managed to incapacitate the struggling Death Eater and used the wall as a support so he could get to McGonagall.

On the floor, opposite a dead Death Eater, was McGonagall. He had seen Madam Hooch laid out just like this, a small circle of blood behind her head and he refused to believe that another person was being taken from him. Neville crouched, or more like he fell to his knees in pain, and used every bit of field healing magic as he could remember Ginny teaching them. He checked the wound, removed any foreign particles, stopped the blood loss, covered it and begged every deity in existence to let it be enough. Her heart was still beating, he could tell by checking her pulse like Hermione always suggested, and he knew McGonagall was strong enough and stubborn enough to stay alive.

Neville knew his energy wasn't going to last much longer, but McGonagall had taken down the wards before she fell, so he kept moving. The wall was actually a well hidden door and he cracked it open, using his wand to shine a light inside. Sitting the darkness, wearing rags for clothing and shaking fearfully as if they expected him to come torture them, were the three people they had come to rescue. Absurdly, Umbridge was still wearing a little pink.

"Professor?" Neville asked, trying very hard not to fall over from the pain and the fatigue he felt beating on the corners of his mind. His vision was narrowed down to a small tunnel and his breathing was becoming more difficult.

Horace Slughorn looked up at him and there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes. Moody's voice echoed out from down the hall and Neville felt the same kind of hope. The Death Eaters had been defeated.

"You're safe." He tried to say, but the moment he took a breath, the world went black.

* * *

**A/N: **For some reason I'm always finishing chapters sometime around midnight. Once I got started on this one, it was a blast to write and I hope it was to read. I'm excited that action, proper fighting for your life action, is finally taking place. I like the visual I get in my head when these kinds of scenes show up as it plays out like a movie in my head. I adore each and every one of you that has favorited, alerted and reviewed and am very humbled to those that have favorited and alerted _me as an author_. Those don't always happen and are a wonderful treat. So much more to come, and I'm almost at **30** chapters! I planned on this story being epic, but goodness! Here's to the next leg of the journey! Please review! Tickle2Kill.


	30. Chains

~*~Chains~*~

He was laid out on a bed with clean white sheets in their Mungo's, a throbbing ache coming from his back and mimicked in his leg which was all orchestrated by his heartbeat. He was clean and whole, in so much as his body parts were all intact and not missing. Ten fingers and ten toes, the latter he could see because he was barefoot, both eyes, his legs still worked aside from the broken ankle locked up tight in a cast. All in all, a successful mission.

Neville shook the sleep from his body, attempting to pull himself to a sitting position but his back protested as though he had pulled muscles. He tried to reach back but that just aggravated the wound he couldn't even see. Frustrated, Neville decided he could just attempt to roll to his good foot, crouch and stand straight without having to engage his back too much. It started off as planned, but his good foot could only hold a little weight at a crouch and his other foot dropped enough to lightly tap the floor.

_Terrible_ pain shot up his leg and he was struck breathless because of it. He hit his knees which only jarred the bad leg again and pressed his forehead to the floor. The coolness of it helped him block out some of the pain, enough to push back and to manage a wobbly, uncertain stance.

He braced himself on the bedside table and stared down at the knife and card sitting innocently together by a small pot of flowers. It was oddly familiar. It gleamed in the light and was sharp with a delicate rune on the blade that stood for _half_. He picked up the knife and weighed it in his palm, wondering if he could use it like a muggle would to defend himself.

More than once he had used his wand to slash at evil people, had seen from afar their bloody wounds, but this short metal blade could do the exact same thing. The same thing and from about an arm's length away. He thought he would get dirty from normal duels, he couldn't imagine the gore of a muggle one if a blade like this was the preferred weapon. He set the knife down and picked up the card, looking at the information printed on the back, beneath blood that must have been his own.

_Considered a martyr and hero among those of the Light, Potter is famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Lord Voldemort in 1981, for alerting everyone to the Dark Lord's return in 1995, and his untimely death on the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts in 1997. Harry Potter enjoyed Quidditch and Defense Against the Dark Arts._

Neville let out a chuckle of disbelief and turned over the apparent Chocolate Frog Card. They must have changed their designs. Harry's face looked up at him with a nervous smile from one side of the card and he eyed the slash in his portrait worriedly. He reminded him of the Harry from about fourth year and his scar was obscured by hair. Stabbed in the back with a knife that was already stabbed through Harry. It sort of seemed like a mockery of his life really.

He had heard the prophecy, nearly everyone had nowadays, and it had struck him when he realized that he, too, was born as the seventh month dies. He was nearly marked as an equal. He had had his parents ripped from him, had lived with relatives who were brusque and sometimes cruel, though Harry had gotten the worst of it. But where Harry had been targeted by the Dark Lord directly, he had had to deal with the madness of the Lestranges and Barty Crouch Jr. He had been the other side of the coin. No fame had shined upon him, no favoritism had been granted to him, and he wasn't brave as Harry was. Neville had learned and bettered himself because it was the only way to stand out as someone of worth. Beside the Golden Trio and the Order of the Phoenix, the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters, he was very little and uninteresting.

Neville didn't want Galleons and girls and fame and titles, he just wanted to help.

"You shouldn't be up." It was Samantha and she didn't look altogether pleased. He tried to look abashed at having been caught out of bed but he couldn't quite get the boyish grin to work itself onto his face.

"I heard Harry's awake. Can I see him?"

"Moody's talking with him and you've been stabbed in the back for Merlin's sake! Get back into bed." She ushered him backwards quickly, slowing down only enough to ease his back against the mattress. "When you are cleared, then you can move. That blade was coated with an anticoagulant and it's been hell getting all the little soaked beads out of your wound."

"Beads?" He asked, confused.

"Some shampoos or body washes have little exfoliating beads in them that break down in warm liquid. Take that same principle and change shampoo to poison and exfoliate to time-release. Quite ingenious, really."

"Yeah, bloody fascinating." He grumbled, trying to relax back into the mattress.

"You can learn even from your enemies." She said firmly and he nodded. He knew exactly what she meant.

"How are they?" He asked, settling down again. He wasn't used to being idle for very long anymore.

"Moody's neck was an easy fix, thanks to you I hear. He's groaning like a child about the bandage, but it has to heal."

"And McGonagall?"

"She's stable. A concussion, a little blood loss and a big nasty bruise on her scalp where I had to cut away the hair to patch it up properly. She'll be right as rain in a couple weeks." Samantha was sitting on the edge of his bed and he sighed.

"Stabbed in the back, huh?"

"Three inch blade, the poison coating, it missing anything vital, your spine, in example, by a half inch. Your ankle was both bruised and broken," she marked the injuries in the air like a scoreboard. "You'll have to stay off it for a while. You're bruised purple nearly all over your body and there are fingerprints on your neck." She pointed them out calmly. "I'm adding a salve to speed the process. But wounds make you look tough, eh?"

"I don't feel tough."

"Good guys rarely do." Samantha patted his thigh and stood, making her way out as he closed his eyes. "Thank you."

"What?" Neville asked with a frown, unsure if he had heard her right.

"Rivers!" Moody's voice echoed out down the hall, loud and angry. Neville frowned more, forcing himself up even though it jarred every nerve in his body. Samantha was standing right outside his door, her head turned to look at Moody and her eyes hard. She spun, quicker than he could believe, and dashed down the hall. Moody, Ginny and many thrown spells followed. He watched it all with shock.

* * *

Harry was still weak, but he told them what he remembered of the other side and then he had told them about Samantha Rivers. He only knew her face and her basic build, but it was enough to identify her. Moody had taken off on at a hobbling sprint and she kissed Harry before following suit.

The one thing Ginny hated more than Voldemort was manipulators. Her entire life seemed to revolve around them and so had Harry's. There always seemed to be someone who wanted to control what they did, where they went, who they cared for. Percy, before everything had gone to the dogs with the Siege and his death, had tried to keep them away from Harry. Dumbledore had worked his influence over all of them, from the very start and had molded each one of them as befitting their role in the bigger picture. When Dumbledore had fallen, Moody had taken his place and from lying to them about the state of the refuge to Oblivating Hermione, he was doing a wonderful job of manipulating.

Samantha was coming out of Neville's room when they made it to the second floor.

"Rivers!"

Ginny's wand was in her hand and she threw out as many spells as she could to slow the woman down. Most of her spells were deflected to the walls and floor, the fleeing witch more than adept at their methods since she had been at all of their mandatory training sessions. The healers that were running the second floor dove into rooms to escape the chase and Samantha dashed out the second floor window, using magic to ease her descent. Moody took the stairs, Ginny tossed herself out of the window, turning her outer robe into a cushion as she fell. Samantha was ahead, flying down _Ariana Road_ at full speed. Ginny kicked herself back to standing and hurried in pursuit. She had been making a habit out of running so her heart wasn't beating too fast and she still had enough energy to spare should she have to engage in an actual duel. She hoped it didn't come to that.

"Rivers!" Moody yelled again as Ginny lashed out with ropes, hoping to use her own momentum to twist the woman off-course. But that was another thing Samantha had seen them practice. The healer laughed, dodging, and responded with a curse of her own. Frustrated and ready to finish this, Ginny used her ropes and the upcoming hill to give herself a burst. The tree she latched her ropes around was thick and strong, the hill was steep, and she aimed her landing so that she could tackle Samantha to the ground.

For a breathless moment it felt like she was flying, then she crashed into Samantha and they rolled to the base of the hill. Fists flew and Ginny gave as good as she got, though it had been ages since she had had the need to actually fight someone.

A sharp pain went through her arm and Ginny pulled at the woman's hair, trying to tug her off. Another pain came from her side and the breath went out of her body. It stung like the kiss of fire, but she couldn't let pain stop her. She screamed to rid herself of some of the pain and used her wand to restrain the woman.

"_Stupefy_!" She cried, rolling away from a glinting metal weapon as it came down where her neck was a moment ago. Samantha fell heavily to the ground and Moody caught her up, disarming the healer and tying her in chains securely. Samantha's wand was broken soon after.

"You're bleeding, girl. Get back to Mungo's, I'll take care of Rivers."

"I want to know why she did it. I want to know why she drugged Harry for four years." It was hard to breathe and the pain was growing.

"And you'll find out. Get to Mungo's!"

Cesare appeared, his hunched shoulders revealing how close to his wolf nature he was. He rushed over to her, his marred olive skin bright with sweat.

"_Bella_, what has happened?"

"Get her to the healers, now!" There was urgency in his voice but Ginny couldn't understand why. She pulled herself up until she was leaning against something solid, which turned out to be Cesare. He was pressing down on her abdomen and she saw blood pouring out from between his fingers. Samantha hadn't used her wand though, she hadn't cursed her once they got to the bottom of the hill.

"Clever." Moody muttered and Ginny glanced at him. In his hands was a muggle blade, shining with fresh blood. She realized suddenly that it was her own.

* * *

His dungeon was colder than most, but it forced those sitting in them to the center where the heating was filtered through and also where the door-activated traps were. He used one of these now as he opened the cell door and left it open. The man tried to move to it, but met the thin red barrier of the trap and fell back to the ground. So long as the door was open and they were in the middle of the room, they would be trapped there. It was highly convenient.

"Mister Amalat. Enjoying your stay?"

"Go to hell."

"Being the king of it, I never truly left."

"Are you going to kill me now?" There was such desperation in the man's voice and an acceptance of his fate. Clicking his tongue, Voldemort locked his fingers behind his back.

"So eager to give up the game. You are definitely not part of the Light." He tilted his head back to watch the man's reaction.

"I told you I wasn't of the Light. I just want my wife."

"I have her." He said it with honesty, a benevolent tone in his voice.

"You have Goldie?!" Wilbur Amalat seemed to forget about the containment field and rushed at it again. "Don't hurt her, you bastard!"

"Why should I do _anything_ you say? You tried to kill me and succeeded in killing one of my Mudblood wards. I should leave you here to rot."

"Then do it! But leave her out of it!"

"I think I'll move her to a cell across from you. And every day I'll return to remove a finger from her hands. When I run out of fingers, I'll take her toes. When I run out of toes, I'll take..."

"Please!" Wilbur was kneeling, crying, his anger a sort of simmering boil in comparison to his fear. His ill-fitting finery was filthy and clearly belonged to a portlier man, but his shoes fit properly. He hadn't actually been tortured yet. Voldemort tended to leave victims whole for as long as possible physically as he tore them apart mentally and spiritually.

"What are you willing to do to save your wife this torment?"

"Anything! Everything! Please!"

"Good." Voldemort stepped back, letting the door close. Once the lock engaged, the man jolted forward, hissing at the cold stone against his hands.

"Let me see her. Let me know she's alright."

"After you've done _anything_ and _everything_ I ask." He turned his back to the man and continued out.

He would need a man on the inside of the Light, much as Severus had been to him in the past. Using Severus was out of the question now as the Light would never welcome back the man that had put an end to Dumbledore's reign of goodness. But before he could send the Wilbur Amalat to the Light as an infiltrator, he would have to do one last thing.

Rodolphus had left him the vial of Oberan Damasca's blood and he had been too distracted during Persephone's last visit to get a sample of hers. Voldemort had a gift for her besides, one he knew she would both be thankful for and abhor. He would not mark her, not yet, not until he knew she was who they thought she was. He needed verification of her identity and he needed to continue to assess her worth. She was brave, facing him with the attitude she had and not backing down when others would have run from him. She was smart and seemed willing to aid him in his kingdom, even if she also appeared to hate his very existence. She was kind, which would have been an asset had she not also been far too much like the Light for his tastes.

She treated the mudblood children like her own blood, she was gentle with those that would harm her, she was against all the evil he embodied and she still did not leave. She did not run. She stayed and she spoke to him with an assurance that he would not harm her or those she cared about. She believed herself safe.

Voldemort would take that from her. Severus was away in France, the Malfoys were being wary of others, the rest of the high families saw her as a future mistress or a whore that used one Lord to win over the King...she had no one. No one but those children and no one but him. He would prove to himself and to her that he was not some lackwit of a ruler with no mind and no voice. He would show her the true might of the Dark Lord he had been when the Light thought to challenge him. He would show her Lord Voldemort before the comfort of kingship.

_And she will fear me._

* * *

It had been one hell of a week for Lavender.

Harry had woken and everyone from here to Timbuktu knew about it. Everyone but the King and his minions. Samantha Rivers had been taken into custody on charges of some form of treason and carted away to the cells up the long path to the bookstore. They had converted the space where the storeroom had been into cells. A trial was set to take place soon. The Death Eater and Snatchers would keep her company until then. Of course, you couldn't actually speak in between cells as they were solid stone, so perhaps it was only in a relative sense.

Neville and Ginny were recovering from knife wounds, McGonagall was still taking it easy from her concussion and the healers were having a fit without the steady hand of their erstwhile leader.

Tonks was pregnant, Fleur Weasley was pregnant, Hannah-bloody-Abbott was pregnant, even the werewolves had a pup on the way. Half the refuge was in a state from all the gestation and she couldn't get herself to settle down with Ron for more than a month.

It was easy, she could stay with him for the rest of her life or for a minute and it always felt the same. It always felt like she was absolutely and completely whole. He kept trying to convince her that he was in it too, but she didn't want to repeat what they had gone through at school. The last thing she needed was to run him off because she wanted to join their houses together and get married and settle down and have kids and live happily ever after for the rest of their lives. She didn't want to watch him choose someone else over her again. She didn't want to be the reason he left for a second time. So she was determined to move slow, to prove to him that she could wait for him...that she was strong enough to let him be happy even if it wasn't with her.

He had said that was nonsense as he wanted no one else. She told him not to speak so soon. Give it time. It had become her mantra.

The one thing she didn't have nowadays was time. Moody had her running here and there testing glamors both on people and on places. He was very happy with her mimic-shields and he wanted to be able to put them in robes, sort of like Harry's invisibility cloak. She thought it was a bloody long shot but she was going to try her damnedest to see if she could make them. Anything to help with the war.

Moody kept crashing on her couch if she didn't herd him off to bed and grumbled the entire way there about how much he still had to do that day. She would give him three fingers of Firewhiskey laced with a calming draught and he would ruffle the top of head like an affectionate owner, which was both nice and condescending, but he'd called her daughter once by accident after she had dosed him and she hadn't been able to stop smiling for a whole year.

Tonks had been by before she zipped off with Bill, doing gods knew what with Cerberus. Hagrid tried to get them to call it Fluffy but there was no way on earth they were going to call the three most dangerous heads in this fight _Fluffy_. The three were, of course, Colin, Philip and Godemar, and they had all sort of cropped up right around the time the Hunts began.

The Hunts began about a couple months after the Siege, when rage was still high and the Light had still been too stubborn to just flee like properly defeated foes. They hadn't had the upper hand and taking the high road got more killed than rescued, which left them all both disheartened and terrified, never a good match when dealing with a war and soldiers. Morale, they had learned the hard way, was half of the battle. With Harry in a coma, the forerunners of the Light on the retreat and Snatchers taking and selling or killing anyone they could catch, there was very little reason to stand behind the Light. Dumbledore was dead, Voldemort was front page news and naysayers were falling like flies in winter.

It had been the beginning of the end for them.

Then in the dark, holding a faint amount of hope in his hands, calling all those that the king would harm, stood Moody. He was book-ended on one side by Hermione Granger and on the other Ron Weasley. Together, they had dug in their claws and they had shielded the masses of good against Voldemort and the rising darkness.

Lavender wasn't sure when it had happened but Moody had started talking to Philip and slowly they had won over a head of the Cerberus. But the other two were not so easy. Godemar was on the far right supporting the Death Eaters and Colin held place in the middle and was just as stalwart in staying there as Godemar was at helping the dark.

It had all become very spy-like and cryptic after that and Lavender decided it wasn't worth her time to ponder over it. Instead, she took the responsibility of greeting and situating newcomers when Diggle was swamped for time and she wasn't helping with the children. She was a people person and it didn't matter if they were eighty or eight, she would make them feel at home.

There was a whole new block of small apartments now, where the newcomers were being placed and the refuge was never quiet anymore. She was so busy. Just so very busy.

* * *

Jean-Pierre Raffarin and Ariel Boudin worked cohesively for the betterment of muggle-wizard relations, going so far as to sign laws to benefit both parties' safety. The French Ministers were both very busy and it seemed Boudin was running the partnership as most of the laws were in favor of the wizarding community. Severus hadn't been able to do more than set foot on French soil and take up residence in Lucius' late eighteenth century-styled flat. Boudin wouldn't treat with an Ambassador from Britain, Malfoy or no.

It was a rather inconvenient turn of events. Having Lucius turning up on his doorstep everyday for the past year had worn down the man's hospitality and he would rather sharply slam the door in Severus' face than hear a word he had to say.

He had tried carrying the banner of the king, but it was obvious that there was no entry that way. Severus couldn't appear to be under someone else's influence or word would get back to the king. Declaring himself for the Light in a foreign country would only cause discord back home and the last thing he needed to do was stir the snake pit of the upcoming war. Too many people were at stake in this dangerous game they played. He just had to think of a way to convince the man he was for the King so that they could treat privately and he could reveal his true allegiance.

First, he attempted the blunt way. It was guaranteed not to work, but everything was worth at least one go. He got as far as the decorated mezzanine in the French Ministry, where the poster of a proverb hung, before security whisked him out the door and ordered him not to return.

_Where there is love, there can be no darkness._

A fancy dinner at an out of the way place and he was back to Lucius' flat where he stared at the wall for an hour contemplating the best way to speak to the man. In the absence of a good excuse to get to the Minister's office and the lack of ability to infiltrate due to the heightened security around the building, Severus was at a loss.

Until, he read the Ministry Weekly, which was the ministry's own magazine. In the center was an article about the Minister's next play against the rising threat from Britain. It mentioned a gala for his supporters to discuss further measures to be made to keep France a completely French entity. Severus noted the place and the guest list, which included no less than three royals and twelve foreign dignitaries.

If there was any time to seek the man's aid for the Light, it had to be before he made a speech at that gala. Severus pulled off years of rust, changed out of his billowing robes and wore muffled boots. Now was the time for listening at keyholes.

Ariel Boudin spent his free time walking the streets, talking to people both muggle and wizard, starting thoughtful conversations that lasted long after he had moved on. It was habit for him to enter any establishment that may offer conversation and set the denizens to contemplation. He kept company with the highest and the lowest of men, spoke softly when others shouted, laid sure hands upon the shoulders of those captured by their emotion. He knew the beggars as well as the presidents and treated both with the same honest interest, listening to them for he said that all mouths held truths as all minds held secrets and he would hear those that would speak to him in confidence.

Severus, cloaked in demure robes and worn boots, kept his presence hidden well into the night, following the Minister as he visited his people, spoke and was spoken to, smiled and frowned. Boudin gave Galleons to those that needed them in the moment, but sent away those that came for charity they did not need. The Minister did not begin walking back to his residence until almost midnight. In the dark and the quiet, Severus followed behind him.

Boudin walked with a straight back, his head held with much pride, and his thick fingers curved around a simple walking cane. His place was off a back-street, where only motorcycles, bicycles, and pedestrians could travel. The light was on above the door, there was no one else about and Severus made a move.

"Minister." He said, moving forward so that he could be eye to eye with the man. The short curly black hair on the man's head flopped about in the breeze and his brown eyes were curious.

"You must be the man the guards removed. Your name again?"

"Severus Snape." He watched the Minister closely, assessing.

"Ah, the Slayer. Where is Lucius?" There was a bit of worry on the man's face, as though he knew what the King had done. Maybe it was just that he knew what the King was capable of.

"I asked the King to allow me to speak to you. Lucius has been through enough here."

"Yes, he has. That man is too good for the things he does. Are you a friend to him?"

"I have been for years."

"You know I will not change my mind for you anymore than I did for him?"

"I do not want to change your mind, I want to have a conversation."

"_A_ conversation? _One_? You surprise me."

"Will you grant me one conversation?" Severus knew what the consequences of failure were and he was very sure he could use that one conversation to his advantage. All he needed was a secluded place, where he could be sure only the Minister would hear what he had to say and he would convince the man to join the fight against the King. All he needed was a chance.

Boudin stepped forward and laid a hand on Severus' shoulder. "Tomorrow, at exactly noon, be at my office. I will hear you out for one meeting. No more than that."

"Thank you, Minister."

"You are welcome." Boudin smiled and left Severus standing outside in the cool Parisian night.

* * *

**A/N: **So I do have a reason for the delay! First my weekend was a total bastard, then when I finally got to sleep I slept too long and in an awkward way, so my neck has been jacked for three days. It made it too uncomfortable to focus and then I got stuck trying to reason out the pacing and what I wanted to add to this chapter, which took me far too long and I'm sorry about that. Poke me if I take too long on the next one. Hope you enjoyed this one! Please review! Tickle2Kill.


	31. Bloody Hell

~*~Bloody Hell~*~

"Your owl is rather persistent." Persephone Damasca greeted him with an exasperated look on her face and passed by him without much more than a glance. "He pecked at my elves when they tried to let him in. He's got as much manner as his master."

Voldemort said nothing, merely closed the door. Persephone divested herself of her heavy outer cloak and gloves, looking about his foyer curiously.

"You called for me?"

"You came."

"You are my king." She said it matter-of-factly, giving him a humorous smile.

"I am king, but not yours. Since the day we met you have never treated me with the respect due to a sovereign. You think yourself my equal," he let his wand rest against his palm. "You are mistaken."

Her emerald eyes took in his stance and his unsheathed wand, calmly. A fierceness washed over her features and she morphed into a regal, powerful witch in seconds.

"I am meant to be frightened?"

"No. You are too foolish for that." He struck, sending a brilliant yellow curse at her. She ducked, dropping her cloak and gloves, using the time she had in her recovery to retrieve her wand. She eyed him with a frantic sort of energy, but it was not fear. Her stance was that of a roguish dueler, of someone used to surprise attacks, being outnumbered and using their surroundings. He wondered where she might have learned such a technique.

"You want to play?" She asked, a wild smirk on her face. "Let's play."

She didn't attack first, he noticed, merely circled the space, watching his every move. She leapt to the side instead of throwing up a shield because her tactic was movement. He had to admit, aside from her robes, she was a small, quick target. He stalked around her, sending curse after curse at her, watching her dodge, duck and roll. When one of his more vicious curses caught her skirt and began burning through it, she ripped off her robes, below which was a fitted black sleeveless shirt, pants and supple boots. There wasn't a bit of extra fabric. Not only was she a scrapper but she was prepared for a fight. He saw without the obstruction of fabric that her boots were tailored to her feet and allowed maximum control whenever her foot touched the ground.

He deflected her sudden volley of curses which were aimed at his arms and his legs, standing his ground as the powerful wizard he was. There was no need to move, no need to run, because his strength could overcome whatever designs someone had.

_Except for when their design is your_ _death. You ran then._

She wasn't throwing anything violent and her lips were still curved in a smirk. She was humoring him. Suddenly furious, he cast the Killing Curse, watching as her eyes widened as she cast herself to the ground. The vibrant green made her pale skin look sickly and the curse burned a hole in the space where she was just standing. Persephone's chestnut hair had fallen from its updo and lay tousled before her face as she gazed up at him through the strands.

"Come then." He offered, holding his hands out to the side. "No more games."

"As you wish." She kicked back, using the wall as leverage to stand, casting a wall of fire around her. Through the thin flames, he saw a rage in her eyes and he turned her fire into a thick smoke which she cultivated into a cloud that blocked her from sight.

Voldemort sent a sort of lightning through the cloud at various points and was rewarded with a yelp. He went to grin in success but had to block a slicing hex aimed for his knees. Not blunt like his former foes, she attempted to wound him piece-by-piece until he was a useless shell of a wizard. It had been far too long since he had had a proper duel. Their duel was mostly silent as she seemed to know wordless magic as well as did. He reached out with his mind to pinpoint her, but was rebuffed the instant he made contact.

A thrill went through him. Not many could block him. _What a strong mind she must have._

With a lazy flick of his wrist the smoke cleared. He saw her dash left and he followed her with curses of varying violence, observing her tactic failing as she couldn't outrun the spells. Persephone cast a thick green shield, attaching it to her chest with a hastily drawn _anchor_ rune and went on the offensive. She countered his freezing hex with a bolt of boiling water, his snake pit illusion with ropes that shot out towards him, and a quite masterful transfiguration of his dining table into a boulder. She stood atop that big rock, using her vantage to send down curses and a barrage of acid rain. Voldemort pulled the boulder towards him, setting her off-balance and transfigured the rock into a crude golem.

For the first time in their duel, he saw her hesitation. She tried to evade the golem's hands, but he was able to catch her by the throat. She gave a choking scream as her anchor rune broke and the fingers curled tightly over her windpipe. Dangling above him, her legs kicking and her fingers scrabbling to find purchase on her captor's rocky form, Persephone didn't look so very untouchable.

"What will you do now that you are powerless?"

The golem's thick fingers were slowly tightening and Persephone was gasping for air. Her wand was on the ground at the golem's feet and for a moment he contemplated stomping it to chips. Tears were running down her face and she was struggling helplessly.

"I am Death. You hold no power in my kingdom, no title and no purpose. You are nothing if I say you are nothing. You die when I say you die and live because I have given you permission to." Voldemort grabbed her left arm, holding her inner arm up to the light. "I will mark you so that every day you can be reminded that you are mine to control. I own you and all that you are."

His wand tip pressed against her skin and he made a slicing cut. The blood that flowed from her wound was captured in a small vial and he stored it away for later. His long pale fingers brushed over her arm and he felt the slight upraised knots of old scarring where there was only unblemished skin. Voldemort could make out the faint beginnings of a word that began with the letter M. He settled his wand in the cut and was rewarded with her whimper of pain. Suddenly the golem collapsed into dust and Persephone swept the lot of it up into his face. It was only a minor irritation of dust particles in his eyes and he cleared them away quickly, but when he regained his sight to gaze at his foyer, Persephone was gone.

"Well, Death, I wouldn't go so far as to claim ownership. You barely own yourself." Her rasping, weak voice seemed to come from the stairs but also from the sitting room to his left. "How much did you have to carve away to rid yourself of your father? Was there anything left when you were done?"

"I am perfect. I crafted myself into the true image of power. I am Lord Voldemort."

"King, remember?" Her voice was right beside his ear, as though she were standing behind him. He didn't turn because he knew she wasn't. He could feel the emptiness of the space behind him and was reaching out delicately with his mind, taking time to find her distinct signature in the area about him. She would not be far. "Tom, the wretch and the king." She whispered in a singsong, mocking way.

"And what are you, Persephone? A Mudblood and a queen?"

"Of course!" Anger blossomed in her tone and he heard a soft footfall to his right. "You cut at the mud, didn't you? Stuck your hand in the blood and cried because it wasn't pure. I wonder how many times you told yourself you weren't good enough yet...not yet."

"Pure blood is what makes us elite. In our blood is the ancient magic of generations of wizards and witches, heroes and villains, wise men and fools. We inherit the brilliance and carry it forward. We are the superior ones." Voldemort turned his back to the right side of the room and let his mind search. She was very close.

"Funny, there are fewer purebloods in the world right now than there are muggleborns and halfbloods. And we don't inherit someone else's brilliance, we are born with our own. We have defeated you at every turn with that same brilliance, ripped from you power, glory and life. You aren't death."

_We_, she said, _we_.

He felt her mind, the steel-encased thing it was, and he forced his own power through her barrier without a hint of warning. Persephone's mind lashed out at him and pushed him back but he cut past her defenses with glee.

He saw her fighting with Severus and walking away crying, but her mind was still strong enough to block their words. He saw her talking with Draco, crafting the crown she had left for him. He saw her dancing with him at the ball and a quick flash of a dark, filthy room in what he supposed was Knockturn Alley. Before he could focus on it, she drove him towards that moment during the ball when the Killing Curse had been coming for him. He remembered the sudden fear that he was only now noticing its presence. Voldemort knew this memory would end with her knocking him to the floor, but it didn't.

The green light was racing for him, hungry and violent in its intent and Persephone stood across from him, laughing. He was afraid all over again, but he shouldn't be. He tried to steer her mind away and found that he couldn't. The curse slammed into his chest and he was met with blackness. A slow, creeping blackness that he realized was her mind blocking him out once again.

"You aren't death, Tom. You aren't even alive."

He let out a roar, knocking her to the floor with his hands. She fell out of her shadows and into the light, rolling to a stop against the stairs. He could feel the fear of the moment in his bones and he snapped.

"_Cruciatus!_"

Persephone wasn't fast enough to avoid it and it struck her square in the shoulder blades. The effect was instantaneous. Her smug know-it-all face vanished and she writhed in pain. Voldemort didn't freeze her because he wanted her to feel the force of true pain, without something to hold her in place. Let her smash her head against the stairs and break her nails against the wood. Let her know who controls her. Let her fear.

Her entire body locked and she wasn't breathing through the pain. Her face was wet with tears and her boots made thumping noises against the floor as she desperately searched for comfort that was not going to find her. He laughed with satisfaction as she finally screamed, her abused throat from the golem's hands making the scream broken and pathetic.

"Please!" She begged him, genuine fear in her eyes and he felt the rush of pride in his chest for having pulled it from her.

"Stop it! _Stop it, daddy!_" The little girl, Vanessa, suddenly screamed, shoving at his legs because she couldn't reach any higher. With a chuckle, he lifted the curse, only to recast it once the little girl stopped pummeling his knees.

Vanessa pinched his thigh and he kicked her aside. The soft cry as the girl hit the ground caught his attention and he lifted the curse again. He heard Persephone gasp in a much needed breath, her body jerking as it released the aftershocks of his torment. He leaned toward Vanessa and watched her closely.

"Still think I'm your daddy?"

A glare came from the girl, but she pulled herself up to her little feet and ran off to Persephone's side. He looked to her shaking form on the ground.

"I win." He said in elation. She had feared him.

The sobbing witch reached out for Vanessa, but a second later his wand flew out of his loose grip, over the little girl's head and into Persephone's hand.

"No." She wheezed. "I do." She sighed, closing her eyes and relaxing completely. She appeared unconscious.

The fear, the all-encompassing fear, returned. For a split second, as he stared at his wand in her hand, he had seen a triumph in those eyes that did not belong to her. It belonged to Potter in that graveyard, on that night that was burned into his memories like an eternal brand. The dead were dancing all around him and every single one of them had died at his hand. But they were not lifeless beings with no voice and no power, they were titans in his shadows, looming ever nearer as the numbers grew. He was powerless to stop them as they were already dead. They were going to drag him down into the creeping blackness and he would never surface. It would make living in the forest of Albania, jumping from animal to animal, sound like a good thing.

The little girl looked at him, then snatched the wand out of Persephone's limp hand. With a serious face, she approached him.

"Mummy isn't to be hurt. Mummy kept you safe." He let the girl take his hand in her small one. His wand took its place in the next moment.

"Your mother died at the hands of Snatchers for saying my name." He relished in the flinch that came in response to his words, but too soon it faded away.

"My mummy can't die," the girl said, patting his hand. "But you can."

* * *

The concrete was sweating beneath his palm and he was shivering from the cool air around them. The Snatchers didn't know the meaning of resilience, they were whinging little children without their mothers, huddling together in a corner like the victims they were. The cold was stealing his voice from him and Aela was slowly becoming a statue without her sister's presence. Still, they did not know what had become of their comrades.

The Aurors had been in and out, choking them with Veritaserum and asking the most inane, standard protocol questions. The old Inquistition was being used with the same dull results and it was boring Rabastan to tears. They were given blankets and pillows, perhaps as a token of mercy that was meant to soften them to their captors. He had never cared for the manipulation of kidnappers. He was a prisoner of the opposing side in this battle, he would be granted no quarter despite how many fluffy pillows they piled beneath him. Rabastan sighed as he settled back down beside Aela and laid his head in her lap. Her hands idly carded through his hair and he closed his eyes.

"How many days are we going to endure this?" Scabior was shaking, his clothing doing nothing to aid him in maintaining his warmth.

The cold of this cell was nothing compared to the frigid winter air of Azkaban, when the ice would form in the puddles left by the sea water and would build on the inmates toes and fingers, would weigh down their hair. One was lucky to get one of the cells in the warmer parts of the complex, but the lower levels, including the guards chambers, were deep in the hot earth of their island and reserved for those not guilty of murder and the like. High profile criminals and mass murderers were shacked in the highest parts of the building where the cold upper air was free to fly through the windows and doors. He, Rodolphus and Bella had been locked up towards the top and he had had a decade to get accustomed to the chill. This room was almost becoming comfortable.

"Im-m-mpatient?"

"I'd rather not die in a cell with a werewolf who could turn at any moment." The two Snatchers had been slowly moving away from each other and now were as far away as they could be without sitting next to him.

"Greyback will keep himself as will we. Besides, I am worth too much to be left to a m-m-mauling." Rabastan grinned at the wolf. "We'll all be separated soon."

"How are you to spring us from this place if you're Merlin knows where?"

"Have faith, Scabior."

"That's one thing I have never had. We've given up all we know, they've probably got all those we captured and all our Galleons. Now you say we're going to be separated and somehow I am meant to believe you'll get us out of this. You don't exactly know how morale works, do you?"

Rabastan laughed aloud and Aela broke her trance to join in.

"You are under the impression that I do not know how to survive because I am not assuring you of my abilities to rescue you in every m-m-moment. I suffer no doubt and therefore need not give proof to you. Have faith."

Scabior sighed through his nose and turned his back to them. With a cruel smile, Rabastan rolled forward, catching Scabior by the collar and pulling him to the ground. Greyback moved forward as Rabastan pressed his knee into the plaid Snatchers chest. Aela's hand hit Greyback in a certain spot and the wolf fell to the floor immobile.

"What're you doing? You said you'd get us out!"

"I did." Rabastan muttered, gripping Scabior's head tightly. "I never guaranteed you would live."

Scabior's neck snapped with a quick twist and the door to their cell popped open after appearing in the wall. Three Aurors in dark blue stormed in and Rabastan and Aela set to work. It had been far too long since he had used his natural skills in an honest to magic situation. The jolt of adrenaline was a drug.

The first Auror came at him and he swept the woman's legs out from under her, striking her throat with the side of his hand. The second came and he played docile long enough to get a good shot at taking the man's wand. With the length of wood in his hand, Rabastan dispatched their guards with less than a breath. The Killing Curse, while not creative, was efficient. Aela sped ahead of him with her own wand and they progressed down the hall. Even if they were recaptured, Rabastan will have sent a tracking message to his brother. The Light would have another thing coming if they thought they would walk all over one of the King's loyal men.

Moody, Auror Tonks, Shacklebolt, Remus Lupin. He knew names now and he also knew where they were. One of their other guards had thought they could use a Veritaserum haze to speak over him and he had heard them say Knockturn Alley. He had learned a lot while under the influence of the truth serum. And he would make sure his sovereign knew all of it.

* * *

The guards in the Ministry glared at him as he made his way to the Minister's office. The secretary out front gave him a very rude welcome, but announced his presence through a nifty intercom system. The French Ministry was littered with muggle-inspired technologies. They were quite sleek and compact.

Severus was a little early, just in case, and he used the time he had sitting on a straight-backed chair to observe his surroundings. The hallway that led to this waiting room was a cream color, accented with blues and greens, there were flowers dotting the corners and the walls showcased beautiful scenes of the ocean and the ships that sailed them. The secretary was writing down instructions with a fountain pen, chuckling at the person he was listening to and saying goodbye before tapping his ear. Severus noticed an ear cuff that seemed to be made of metal, curling into the man's ear. It flashed red every once in a while and each time the secretary tapped it and began to speak. It appeared to be another muggle invention.

"The Minister will see you now." The secretary with his hazel eyes glanced over to him and scoffed with a dismissing shrug.

Severus stood and made his way inside. The Minister's office was behind a polished oak door and furnished with warm sea tones, calling to mind a beach or a cove. His desk was wide and covered in all sorts of letters, packages and above his head were flying memos. The Minister was very alert and active, writing with the same sort of pen that his secretary had. A metal cuff was also on his ear.

"Your hour begins now, Slayer."

"And you'll listen? You seem...preoccupied." Severus did not sit and he was stoic where he knew most would be in an indignant fit. He had woke this morning with a clenching in his gut and had half a mind to rush back to his manor to ensure that Persephone was alright, but that wasn't going to help his cause here. She was at his manor and no one had access there. He would see to her after this meeting.

"Would you like me to cease my duty to hear an hour's worth of rhetoric? I am listening to you because I said I would. Make me want to." The minister sealed a letter and sent it down a chute on his wall, turning to the next order of business.

Severus sighed. With a flick of his wand, he blocked the door and windows, closed off the chutes and yanked the cuff off of the Minister's ear. Boudin flinched, but set his jaw, eying him with a hefty amount of disappointment. Severus ignored him, casting a few more spells to ensure they would not be heard or disturbed. He took a seat when he was done.

"I thought you would be less blunt."

"I am. I have not harmed you and I do not plan to. You must listen because a man's life is at stake. I am here as the King's man, but I am not his man. I serve the Light."

Boudin laughed. "What Light? That great-bearded light left this world long ago, at your hand in fact. You are not going to convince me with that excuse."

"It is not an excuse. Albus..." Severus paused because the words he was about to say were cutting in their own way. "He entrusted me with his end. He made me swear to spare him the indignity of dying because of an old man's sentimentality. I murdered him. I cast the Killing Curse and he fell from the Astronomy Tower on the thirtieth of June nineteen ninety-seven."

"Are you confessing to me a crime I already know you committed?"

"No. I am telling you the truth." Severus steeled himself for all the things he was about to tell this foreign Minister. He only had an hour to convince him that he was not for the King. An hour was long enough for a tale. "My name is Severus Snape. I was born on the ninth of January. I am halfblood. When I was just a child, I met a girl...her name was Lily."

It was difficult at first to explain Lily. How could he put into words everything she was to him? How could paint a picture of her with just his view of her? Lily was a brightness in his dark world, a diamond that he cherished and that he coveted. She was a safe haven and a mental peace. She was home and she was his North Star. Without her, Severus would never have survived his father, his mother, his life. Without Lily, he was half of a man.

The Dark Lord had known that and so had Dumbledore. Lily was his command center and they had fought over that tool inside him, led him like a lamb wherever they wished because it was so easy to.

"She made life worth living."

Twenty years he had bottled up this story, kept it locked beneath his heart to never see the day again. Nothing had been able to pull it out, except when he had seen the Potter boy for the first time. All those memories, all that pain, it had come flooding back with one glance at that small, underfed child with the wild black hair and the lightning bolt scar. Everyday he was forced to see that reminder, not only that Lily had moved on from him, but that she had moved on from life. He had hated the thought of the boy at first, loathed him for being the most of his father and the best of his mother. Harry Potter had been a knife in his chest. The last living piece of Lily. Lily's baby boy. The child that could have been his and should have been. The future he would never have, the past he could never fix.

Haunting the halls of Hogwarts like a vicious burden. Some days felt like swimming through the River of Acheron, drowning on the sorrow of what life had become for him. Trying to hold his breath, desperately wanting to resurface and knowing that he couldn't. Harry Potter's face looking at him with Lily's eyes, blaming him for the misfortune that had befallen them. He would hide in his chambers in the dungeons on those days, marking papers with vibrant red ink, avoiding Albus' comforting hand and the smell of lemon drops.

Other days, he was numb and that was when he was at his most sarcastic, when he could flay a student alive with one word, dismiss an entire devastating life trauma as the cruelty of the world and continue on as though nothing could hurt him. The children would grumble about him behind his back and he would relish in the ability to tear them down from their pedestals. Albus would chide him for being too harsh and he would point out that his classes were the most efficient in the school because he did not pander to the whinging of those he was supposed to teach. Minerva would have tea with him when he felt like company and they would trade pointers on certain students and how best to approach the new parts of their curriculum. He would offer her a biscuit and she would accept and he would be numb.

"You sound like a man of constant sorrow. I am..." The minister drew in a deep breath. "Not entirely different."

"That is unfortunate."

"Nothing in my life is unfortunate. I was born, I have lived, I have fallen in love. She was my life as Lily was yours. I found my purpose with her and my destiny. My love is what guided me through dark storms and I am not whole now that she is gone."

"What happened to her?" Severus tied himself to this lifeline. An opening in the conversation to make progress.

"She was killed with seven muggles at Saint Michel-Notre Dame." The Minister did not say more on that subject and Severus nodded.

"Was she your only love?"

"No. I loved many before I met her. After...no one could compare."

"I had thought I would never love anyone as I love Lily. No one looked at me as she did, no one embraced me. I was left to my own devices and I was unable to cope."

Boudin frowned, leaning forward. He had a wry smile on his lips and his eyes sparkled.

"You have found love again?" He did not say it with that criticism that all his brethren had.

Severus blinked, simply breathing and taking his time to ponder the question. Had he found love? Hermione had woken him from his dark catatonia, but she did not profess love. He did not know her hopes and dreams beyond what she had revealed at Hogwarts, he didn't know her family or her hidden desires, he didn't know her favorite memory or her most cherished possession. In his bookshelf in his bedroom, he still had her photo album, but he hadn't looked through it. Would he find her so intriguing once she was back to her plain bookworm looks, when she went back to the light and began to rebuild? Why was he so attracted to her? Was it only because she had saved him from his depression?

"I may have the opportunity."

"Seize it!" Ariel Boudin looked invested in their conversation and Severus knew what to use to win over this minister.

"I cannot. She is part of the Light and she is putting everything on the line to free my country of the King that rules it."

"Are you helping her?"

Severus chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "I cannot help her with her mission. The Light plans to use her to win the King's heart. She's intelligent, she's quick and she's determined to do whatever is necessary to end this hell. She's not...herself right now."

Boudin nodded, setting his bejeweled hand on the desk.

"Think of it this way: if you cannot love her at her worst, you do not deserve her at her best. Love conquers all, Severus Snape. Do not stand by while the world spins away with your love, grab onto with both hands and never let go."

"I will try."

"What do you do to aid the Light against the King?"

"Gather information, locations of other Death Eaters, upcoming plans and operations."

"And what does the light want from me?"

"Support. Play your hand for the King publicly but stand for the light secretly."

"Like you?"

Severus nodded. "Yes, like me."

"Are you willing to sacrifice everything for this fight?"

"Everything. All of it and more, but..." Severus met the minister's eyes. "Not her. Never her."

"You say opportunity and yet I find I see more strength in your conviction to save her than in your doubt. What is it that holds you back from the truth?"

"She does not love me and has no reason to. I am older than her, crankier by nature, I am a servant of the king and I killed the very leader she ran behind. What in me is there to love?"

"The very question holds the answer. What is there in you worth loving?" Boudin stood, retrieving his blinking ear cuff from the floor. "Think on it, Severus, and I shall think on your cause. My response shall come by owl. Good day."

* * *

**A/N: **Finally got this one done! I was going to go into a spiel, but forget that mess. Hope you enjoyed this one and please review! Tickle2Kill.


	32. TARFU

~*~TARFU~*~

His bloodlust hadn't been sated with that little foray in the Snatcher's cave. He was still seeing red, still coiled up and ready to spring. He and Bella had spoken with Godemar and had searched in vain for Oberan and Colin as both of those men had hightailed it for the hills the moment open declaration of war was announced. The spies and spiders of lesser value were easier to catch and they were using their dungeons, which were on the first floor not deep beneath the earth, more than they had been in years. It did not feel like the end of a productive day if he wasn't covered in blood and smiling like a lunatic. _Oh, the fun the wicked have!_

"Husband?" Rodolphus glanced over, gagging the man that was strung up before him so the man's screams would be muffled. His wife was wearing her minimal robes, the ones she liked best when coaxing the life force out of whatever creature they had captured. Today it was a young girl from Colin's territory. She made such lovely spatters on the metal room floor.

"What is it, wife?" She was actually tolerable today, with her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail and a dark red rouge on her lips. His eyes wandered through the valley of her breasts and he weighed the risk of taking her right now.

"Without her toes, Miss Pink thinks she remembers that Philip has a safe house in Ipswich."

"Carl here thinks so, too." The man on his meat hook nodded desperately and Rodolphus smacked his cheek. "Shall we be absolutely certain?"

Rodolphus made a thin, light cut along the man's ribs, following the guide they provided and watched as the skin split, pouring out blood in a small stream. Hoarse yelling met his ears through the gag and he made another cut on the other side. Bella's heels clicked and she came up behind him, her thin arms curling around his waist as her hands drifted downward towards his hips. He ran his pinky along the new blood and marked her face with it. She chuckled, pressing against him, pawing at his trousers. It had been months since they had fucked in the dungeon.

"Ipswich?" He asked the man, staring up into the man's eyes. The muddled green was wet with tears and the man mumbled an affirmative. "You've done well."

Bella gave a cackle and tugged him away from the man, latching her lips to his as soon as he gave her his full attention. Rodolphus liked to hate his darling wife, but he had loved her once just as much and when she sought him out like this it reminded him why he married her in the first place. Torturing someone always got their libido raging and now was no different. The man behind them was an audience and a toy, forced to watch and made to feel every bit of animosity that still existed between them, despite how urgently his hands appeared to be ripping her skirt away.

She moaned with her head thrown back and her nails digging into the sensitive flesh of his neck, guiding his mouth to her breasts. She was demanding and forceful, always unsatisfied with his performance if he wasn't attacking her body and giving her no choice in the matter of her climax. He was still so eager to kill, so willing to murder and maim anyone who kept him from his brother and he shoved Bella against the thick wooden table where he kept his tools, slicing up her arms in his haste. She gasped at the pain, but yanked him nearer as he kissed her throat.

She was beautiful. He had always thought so and spending years imagining her face had made her even more stunning when they had been able to recover from Azkaban. He remembered when he had first seen her again, her hair wild and unkempt, her eyes delirious and mad, her teeth yellowed and filthy. He had been so happy to see her that it hadn't mattered what she looked like or who was present. He had taken her against the rough stone walls of Azkaban, unrelenting and insatiable, pounding into her flesh with abandon, desperate to remind himself of what he had sworn to love and to cherish until death do they part.

"My viper." He whispered against her skin, tasting the salty flavor of her sweat. She purred, her legs wrapping around his hips, heels pressing into his thighs.

One day he wouldn't feel this because she would be dead. One day he would be free of this torment. One day he would no longer want this. Rodolphus bit his wife, drawing blood, wishing she would simply fade into the air around him, seep into his lungs.

For just one precious moment, Rodolphus let himself go.

It hadn't always been like this. He used to love his wife more than life itself. He used to bring her rare gems and special objects, he used to dote over her with spur of the moment dinners and trips across the oceans. They used to be so very happy.

They had been a semi-typical new couple, hell-bent on the good things in life while steadfastly ignoring the bad. But a love-induced dream life can only last so long and soon Rodolphus was being offered a thousand jobs off his father's name and hearing wildly amazing stories of the glory of the Dark Lord and his powers. The utopia had been wondrous and so very attainable through his eyes and Rodolphus began to believe it when he had been halfway between young newlywed and government employee.

Bella had adored him back in those days and he had been crazy for her. If she had asked him for every star in the sky, he would have plucked them down for her. They had decorated their home together, had designated which room was the nursery and he had started stockpiling baby names. He looked into her eyes, even when she was sick as a kneazle, and saw nothing but an angel some deity had proclaimed him worthy of. He was not to know that the Dark Lord was that deity, or that his angel had horns.

They had argued about their home as it wasn't a manor back then; his father hadn't yet died. They had argued about the pros and cons of having a joint account at Gringotts and if they should get Dark Marks. Day by day, though, he noticed that she seemed less interested in arguing because she was too preoccupied with the Lord and his message. More and more, his wife distanced herself from him.

It all began when they had attended a rally of sorts. It had been held at the elder Black's estate, attended by both pureblooded families with heirs in tow and higher up Ministry officials that talked amongst themselves throughout the entire evening. Rodolphus had been captivated by this vastly knowledgable and powerfully eloquent wizard's message of superiority of the purebloods of the world, just as Salazar would have wanted. Just as Salazar had gone to his grave believing.

The speech had been long, but no one had truly noticed because they were so involved in the vision. That night, Bella had been abuzz with the Lord's fervor and he hadn't been able to see the signs she had turned her heart's gaze to another.

For years, he had been so engrossed in only her that even revenge sex became a humiliating ordeal. He had had to get whores that looked like her, smelled like her, he had to take them from behind so he wouldn't ruin the illusion. Their hair color would lighten and their skin would darken and he soon was able to fuck whatever type of whore he happened to shine a Galleon at. Fucking other men's wives had been too dangerous in the war fever.

Some days he still misses her, still hears her voice when he proposed, still tastes her kiss when they'd spent the summer in Morocco, still felt her body against his own. But the baby names lay forgotten as did his inquiries into their chances of having children. She had told him once, when he had gotten heated over the subject, that she couldn't have children. She'd bit her tongue on the matter afterwards and had left to go seek comfort with their Lord and he had been left adrift to mourn the child he would never hold, the son he would never play Quidditch with, the daughter he would never protect. He had torn the nursery from the floor and to this day that room is a charred skeletal remain of everything he had hoped for when he'd decided Bellatrix Black was going to be his wife. The love faded that day into hatred.

Rodolphus showed an affinity for torture soon after and became adept at getting information through the pain-filled screams of whichever lucky soul was strapped before him that day. He liked to work when the sun was shining so he could see all the details of his work. Bella soon joined him and together they removed what happiness others had. Two doctors playing God on the masses that chose to be something other than what they were. Empty, hollow sacks of flesh, tied together by magic and duty. Rodolphus had formed all sorts of ticks during those months.

Rabastan became a surrogate son, taking the place of all the little ones he wouldn't have. He loved Rabastan as a brother, as a son, and as the only thing in his life that was his and didn't pretend to be anything else. Rabastan loved him just as strongly and he was certain if there was anything he would die for aside from their Lord, it would be Rabastan. Bella used to tease him for it, until he threatened to kill her if she spoke another ill word against him. Usually, Bella is an independent, unflappable woman and he had been filled with pride when she had cowed before his threat and never brought it up again.

Rabastan doesn't like Bella much and that seems like a small vote of confidence from his little brother-son. Some nights, when the Azkaban memories came back without a warning, they would curl up together on the bed he is meant to share with his wife and assure each with their continued presence that it is over and they are home. Rabastan would attach himself to Rodolphus' side like he had when they were little and father had yelled at them and refuse to let go until he felt safe again. He would cry and shake and Rodolphus would sing that song their mother had until the steady rhythm of his heart calmed his brother to slumber.

He hadn't slept in days, if simply because he could not feel his brother's presence in the air around him and it awoke his fear. Fear of what they might have done to him, what he might have said to anger them, what state, if any, he would find him in when he tracks him down.

The whole dark, treacherous chasm that bloomed in his chest from the thought of Rabastan being dead overtook his body. It was fury that chased his fear and he was suddenly aware of feminine fingers digging into his arms, of the clenching of thighs around his own, of a tight vice bearing down on him. He followed his wife into oblivion. As her scream died and he panted heavily from over-exertion, he noticed all the bruises his handling had produced already and the blood pooling from her back and her arms where his tools had bit into her pale flesh. Bella ran a bony finger down his chest as though she didn't notice.

"Thinking of Rabastan, husband?"

"I certainly wasn't thinking of you." He fell away from her flaccid and, with the coldness that their union breeds, he went back to the man on his hook.

"Are you married?" He asked as though he hadn't just fucked his wife against a table. The man shook his head. "Both good and bad, I guess. No need for bitches like her," he jabbed his thumb at her over his shoulder. "But also no one to laugh over your cold body. This is why children are _mandatory_ in pureblood marriages. No one likes a drab funeral over a lonely corpse."

Rodolphus sighed as he lifted one of his longer, thinner blades.

"What do you want to be?"

The man's voice was weak and he was crying. "Alive!"

Rodolphus smiled a cruel broken grin and laid the blade at the man's throat. "We don't always get what we want."

* * *

Sometime in the afternoon, when the Dark Lord had left to attend to business, Persephone had crawled her way to wakefulness. In the early moments of her consciousness, she kept her eyes closed and relished in the softness of the bed she lay in. She had had a marvelous dream, one where she had been at Hogwarts, wearing the school robes with a Gryffindor scarf, a smile across her face as she hugged two boys that wore the same House colors. One had bright orange hair and a wide smile, the other had jet black hair and glasses. Their names were Ron and Harry, respectively. Harry reminded her of her brother Icarys...or was Icarys crafted from Harry?

_The Golden Trio._

Pain danced across her mind and she groaned, sinking further under the covers and willing herself to stop thinking about the boys she hugged in her dream.

"_Hermione!_" _She heard them holler again and they clumsily embraced her. She was wrapped in her friends' love._

_"But my name is Persephone." She protested, unable to will herself to let them go. She missed them so much it hurt to breathe in their distinct scents and she didn't even know who they were._

_"No, it's Hermione." Draco's voice echoed in her mind and she begged them to stop._

Little hands enveloped hers and she shot into the air, sitting up to look about the bed and her surroundings. The King had put her in a guest room, one with a large four poster bed with thick dark chocolate curtains and comforter and creamy white sheets. At least ten of her dear children were littered around her fast asleep, some draped over her legs and her arms were claimed by Cadeyrn and Vanessa. She let them sleep, looking around some more.

Her wand and gloves were on the bedside table and her cloak and robes were on a chair in the corner, neatly folded. Candles light the room and the chorus of breathing, light snoring and sleep-mumbled words fills the air. She wonders how long she had been sleeping.

Cadeyrn woke slowly, his body shifting to get closer to hers. She brushed his hair back and he opened his eyes.

"Mummy." Again it almost brought her to tears, but she denied it. Persephone hugged him as best she could since he was hugging her waist now. She adjusted slowly so that she was leaning against the headboard.

"Hey, Cad." She said gently, running her hand though his soft hair. "How long have I been here?"

"Two days." He was at least half-alert and his eyes barely blinked. "Daddy gave you medicine and let us stay."

She noticed he didn't say Daddy with the same affection as Vanessa but he was older and more able to see the very dark parts of their protector. Cad's eyes lowered and he rested his head against her again. Persephone sang a lullaby that she remembered her mother singing to her when she couldn't sleep. The children stirred a little as she begun but once she fell into a rhythm they all settled back into a deep sleep.

"That is not a pureblood lullaby." The King came from the shadowed space where she supposed the door was. His voice was quiet and he advanced at a slow pace as he watched her. He sat on the side where Vanessa was and the little girl rolled into his lap sleepily. He stilled and she smiled, flexing life back into her fingers.

"She cares for you."

"She shouldn't."

"And yet..." Persephone smiled more, eying the King's rigid posture. "Even in slumber she answers to your voice. She has bonded to you."

"She loves me?" He asked, cold and cynical, but she saw a look of interest in his eyes.

"She's beginning to. Did they see you harm me?"

"Yes, they did. Why, afraid they won't be the persuasive army you've worked so hard to make?" She didn't let his sarcasm get to her because she knew they had to at least be doing something to win him over as he gave them time with her.

"We shouldn't fight in front of them next time. It's not a healthy example."

"Next time?"

"We are too volatile together to not clash at some point. Perhaps you should consider your children before you throw the Killing Curse at me."

"They are not my children and never will be. They are filthy orphans that I have a momentary use for. Do not delude yourself." He raised his hand to push Vanessa away, but the girl rolled again and he caught her before she fell off the bed. Small, drowsy eyes opened and Vanessa mumbled nonsensical words before using the King's arms as leverage to take root on his lap. She had a tiny hand around his robes and she went back to sleep and he was still as stone, gazing down at the girl.

"Pure love, my king." Persephone whispered, staring at Vanessa. "I heard her voice when you tortured me. So young, far too young to witness such terrible magic and yet she does not run from you. She feels safe at her most vulnerable state around you and seeks you out when others would flee from you. It seems these orphans are all that you have, my king."

"I could kill her right now and she wouldn't even know what had happened." He adjusted his long arms and seemed to come to the conclusion that he was stuck for a while.

"You could have killed me." She closed her eyes and Cadeyrn shifted in his sleep around her.

"I still might."

"Good. For a moment, I thought you might have forgotten who you are."

"Do you care for me?" Persephone couldn't place the emotion in the King's voice, but she gave the question its deserved thought before answering.

"I care if you live or die, I care if you are hurt, I care about the kingdom you rule."

"No love from you, then?"

"You've given me no cause to love you. Since we've met, all you have done with any consistency is talk down to me on matters I understand extensively, threaten me when my resolve disquiets you, threaten others when I show you no fear. You've been petty and cruel and childish in your treatment of me. Just two days ago you attacked me unprovoked to prove a point." She opened her eyes to meet his fiery red ones. "You know nothing of love or kindness. I will love you when you give me reason to."

"Is that a promise, dear Persephone?"

"I do not make promises with kings. It is a statement of fact."

"You think I am utterly ignorant of what love is?" He listed twelve different things it was not and she sighed.

"An empty heart holds no power, and yours is the most deserted of all. What would you see in the Mirror of Erised but a perfect view of the wall behind you?"

"And you are such an expert? Please, tell me of the love you have had."

She opened her mouth to begin with Severus but her dream came to her and so did a wave of blurry, scattered memories. If she didn't grab them, they vanished into her subconscious and she did not remember them to recall them. Persephone looked away from the King because she didn't have the guts to let him see the pain that clung to every moment she was thinking of.

"We didn't have much money, my brother, mother and I. Our family had been at the receiving end of my father's choice in allies and the Damasca line had long since fallen into a sort of tentative ruin. We clustered together when most would have scattered, became a trio against the world." Persephone could feel the story coming together, a patchwork of all the cloudy moments she still possessed. It was not necessarily true, but neither was it false. "Icarys and I were weak in body, as pure as a cancerous muggle, and we were failing everyday. Our mother kept us separate but we traded notes through the spaces in the walls and we loved each other more fiercely than anything I had known at the time. Mother found a way to make me better and Icarys built up a tolerance to his ailments. I was still kept away from him and it tore me to pieces to know he was a few feet away, through a wall, a veil that I could not cross. We had lived for years dying and we had done it together. When the pain became too much for me, he would write me letters to remind me of the days when I was happy and carefree and without fear of death."

The king was staring at her, attentive and silent, letting her speak. It was oddly endearing.

"Mother grew sick, probably from caring for us but perhaps it was hereditary. Death came for her loudly on the edge of her coughs. We stood at her bedside and watched her die. It was not as painful as stories say. Our cousin took us in and Icarys went to school. Within a year, he had fallen from the great height and had left me too."

"I do not see the love."

"You wouldn't, would you?" Persephone's hand strayed to Cadeyrn's head and she sighed. "They say life is pain, well so is love. But it isn't a vengeful pain that declares your existence is against nature despite having given you life. Love is a sweet pain, right here." He allowed her to touch him and she pressed her hand to his chest near to where Vanessa's was holding his robes in a loose grip. His eyes did not stray from hers. "It burns like no fire you've ever known and can consume you so wholly that no earthly pleasure can compare. It hurts sometimes, this pain, but its benefits outweigh that cost more often than not. You do not see this love because you believe that life is all there is. I disagree." Her hand fell away and she turned a little so that he was behind her.

"You will have to teach me different, then." He said and she smiled.

* * *

Neville was cleared once the magic from the dagger had run its course and he immediately went back to work. Moody was gun-shy about letting severely injured wizards and witches back into the field too quickly, so Neville was forced to monitor their haul from his last mission. He wasn't exactly comfortable calling people a haul, but he was used to labels. Bill had taken over the communication with Griphook as the goblin absolutely refused to talk to anyone else. Umbridge and Slughorn had been moved into apartments in the refugee block and Neville took his sweet time walking to their respective doors. He supposed talking with Umbridge first would alleviate the chances of ending his day in a sour, pink-frilled note, so it was to her door he went.

His knock echoed down the hall, since it was mid-afternoon and the citizens of the refuge worked well into the night. Everyone's circadian rhythms were off in a place where even the sun was false. The sound of clicking heels met his ears and he heard the radio abruptly cut off three doors down. A quick deep breath centered him so he wouldn't have a grimace locked on his face. The door opened slowly. A flash of dull fuchsia and a thick haze of pomegranate tea overcame the air around him and Neville forced a welcoming smile.

"Hello, Ms. Umbridge. I don't know if you remember me," Merlin, he hoped not. "My name is Neville Longbottom."

"A friend of Potter's, weren't you?" She asked in a quiet voice and he nodded.

"I still am. I don't mean to bother you," he began amicably.

"And yet you are."

He didn't grant her hostility the fertile ground she desperately wanted, instead he clasped his hands behind his back.

"As a senior ranking officer to you at this current moment, I ask that you refrain from causing undue hostile tension between us. I am not here to dictate in any way how you are to resume living your life now that myself and the Order have liberated you. I am here for the sole purpose of asking you questions about what happened to you to see if the memories can provide further information regarding the whereabouts and activities of the rather complex Snatcher community. If you could allow me a moment of your time, I will make this an expedient process so you may never need see me on your doorstep again. Will you grant me the required time for a debriefing of sorts concerning your traumatic event and the people who committed your kidnapping?" He hated being an emotionless soldier, but he also favored the coldness of procedure over biting someone's head off for a misunderstanding. Neville only fought when he needed to.

Umbridge's weary toad face crumpled and she widened the gap between herself and the wall so he might enter her residence. The apartments for incoming refugees were one square room, expanded by magic so there could be upwards of a hundred people on one floor. Each one was devoid of various designs, simply to speed the building process and so any decoration that one saw was the outward expression of the person who resided there. Umbridge had only managed to spell the walls a salmon color and place soft carpet beneath her feet. She had been provided with a 'starter-kit' of sorts that was enough for a new citizen to get their feet beneath them and find work in the refuge. The box lay open and the contents set up according to importance. He avoided the extensive search and only gave a cursory glance to the rest of her space.

"Would you like some tea?" She asked, again as meek as a mouse and he nodded.

"Pomegranate, I smelled. Did you get that from the kit or from Mindy down the hall?"

"Mindy. She said my earl grey was terrible." Umbridge sighed and handed him a delicate cup and saucer. He sipped absentmindedly.

"Thank you." He settled on her small couch and she took the comfy seat. "I will not rush you for the story, Ms,"

"Please call me Dolores." She whispered and he inclined his head.

"I will not rush you for the story, Dolores." He met her eyes and conveyed his honesty. "I will return as much or as little as you need me to. Please know that I am always available if you want to talk, even if that is not right now."

Moody had told him to get the information as quickly as possible, but he remembered living through her reign of terror during his fifth year and he knew this woman better than the old bison. The vicious fire that had tormented them that entire year was gone and a diminutive, fifty year old woman with sunken eyes and hollow cheeks in her toad-ish face remained in the ashes. Neville was many things, but he was not cruel.

"I..." She hesitated, curling her fingers around her own cup. She stared at the liquid as though to find answers. "I'm sorry."

Neville watched her chase that apology with a gulp of tea, her cheeks flush from the heat. It was very different from what he was expecting, but he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

"It was a mistake. I thought I could trust that beetle and she cast me to the dogs for a couple hundred Galleons. They came for me and they swore they only needed my head..." She shuddered and sunk back into the cushion. "They had Scrimgeour alive when they took me, but he was a stubborn man and he didn't know how to be submissive."

Neville sipped some more. He knew that the Ministry had been hard hit by the king's new regime and not many of the light that stayed outside the refuge managed to survive. He was surprised Scrimgeour lasted so long.

"They ripped him to pieces before they let him die. They left his head, hands, and feet with me in a cell." She started to tremble and Neville stood, taking her tea and setting it down. He opened his arms, offering, and she rushed him.

Tears were soaking into his shirt, her nails were digging into his sides and she smelled overpoweringly of strawberries, but he let her hold him because she needed it. Trauma wasn't a new experience for him. His parents were poster children for the effects of it and he had gone through his own for various reasons throughout his life. The one thing he could remember with absolute clarity was the relief he felt when Hermione or Luna would wrap their arms around him and let him know he wasn't alone. He knew how much that little bit of assurance meant and how rare it was for someone to recognize your suffering, accept the vulnerability, and still remain by your side.

Umbridge cried until she couldn't and Neville helped her back to her seat before refreshing their tea. She gazed up at him with a watery smile.

"Would you come back tomorrow?" She asked and he caught himself before he snorted at the absurdity of this entire situation and the fact that it didn't bother him as much as he thought it would.

"What time?"

* * *

A/N: This took a bit longer than planned, but life has been a total bitch. First, my uncle was dying and the hospital was a bit of a drive and we couldn't stay because of jobs and such, then when he does thankfully pass, as he was in so much pain from multiple cancers, that afternoon this damn tornado hits my aunt's area and they may or may not have a house. Which is just...yeah. They live around that Plaza Towers school, but thankfully all my family is safe. I was three-quarters of the way done with this before yesterday, so I made it a goal to finish it today. Also, I don't remember mentioning Rufus before now, but please tell me if I did. Never mind my problems, hope you enjoyed! Please review? Tickle2Kill.


	33. Invisible Touch

~*~Invisible Touch~*~

During the short peace after the King's downfall, Severus had become a sort of recluse. Dumbledore and McGonagall had tried to pull him out of it, commanding he attend dinner, the foolish annual gatherings of hormonal teenagers and terrible music, the annoyingly long nights of patrol and then forced companionship. He remembered the thousands of ways his colleagues attempted to revive him from the dead, but he had been incurable.

The masses severely underrated solitude. There was a kind of peace and harmony that could only be achieved when one was completely and utterly alone. His head had been clear and he could work without distractions, his space was his own and everything was to his liking. If he wished for silence in the classroom, he would have it but not without having endured the titters and sighs of whatever group of miscreants he was teaching with that day. The scratch of quills, whispers as the students strove to avoid his rules, desperate groans as they realized their total incompetence. It had been torture to sit through years of unruly children.

But there had been a few moments, precious and rare as they were, when he loved his occupation. The subtle shifting of expressions on his students' faces as he explained the delicate balance of speed and patience, the way he could capture their minds as he demonstrated how to stabilize a volatile concoction before it exploded. He used to secretly adore the looks of surprise on their faces when he made a show of the different plumes of colors that would leap out of the cauldron.

There had been bright moments along his black life.

After the King had won, however, his sacred solitude had become a prison, locking him away from everyone he had ever cared for or needed despite his outward countenance. The manor in which he now stood was the bubble that had surrounded him, belonging neither in the world, nor outside it.

Boudin's owl was a waiting game and Severus would rather spend that time at home. The King didn't need to know that he was back and there was no one at his manor to tell him. He had already checked all the rooms for Persephone, but she was gone. He guessed she was at the king's manor.

_It begins_.

Severus found that the course of this rebellion, as disjointed as it was, did nothing for the state of his resolve. It wasn't that the king was too big and too frightening to face, he was more than willing to do just that, but the cost of winning was beginning to skyrocket. He did not think he had enough resolve to pay the full price. He did not have the resolve to pay with Hermione's life. She was foolish in ways, leaping to Potter's aid at every turn, letting herself be poisoned by their anti-establishment attitude, throwing herself in front of the king's wand just for a half chance that he might take to her...that he might have a heart to win over. There was so much being done on insufficient evidence and Moody was immovable from the place he had taken in this war. Severus, in the early morning light as he had laid in the borrowed bed he had taken in Lucius' flat, had a clear view of so many things.

The king, however lax he had become in his victory, was not one to trifle with. The wizard behind the façade of the man who had almost been killed by a Killing Curse at his own Yule Ball was not the true king. The man who they had all come to fear and revile, the man that had torn all their lives apart, he was still there and he chose carefully when to remind his followers and his enemies of that fact. Death was a non-partial enemy, doing what he deemed appropriate and disregarding the cares and worries of mortals. The king perceived himself in this fashion, as a death dealer with immortality that needed only to find you wanting before he took what little life you had.

Severus knew this war was going to prove, once and for all, what power the Dark Lord truly held when he did not hold back. He feared the outcome.

His front door opened with a creak and shut just as quietly. If he listened closely, he could make out the muted sounds of boots on the hardwood of his foyer. The wards had barely moved, which had to mean whoever it was had already been on the grounds. The perceived sense of danger sent a jolt of adrenaline through him and he spun on the top of the stairs, working his way back to the front.

"I'm not an intruder." Draco said cautiously.

Severus came up from his left flank, watching his godson with a bemused frown. He had his hands up in supplication and hunched forward as if waiting for a blow.

"That depends on my definition of intrude: to allow oneself in without invitation, permission or welcome. You fit the criteria."

"I have good reason." Draco slipped into a more relaxed stance and tucked his hands into his pockets.

"It is most often the case, though I do not see what constitutes good when you were on the grounds of my property before even I had made it home. What were you hoping to accomplish?"

"Well, there was no guarantee you would be at my father's flat and I didn't want to miss you when you came back..."

"So you..." He cast about for a proper phrase. "_Crashed_ at my manor?"

"Kind of. But I didn't mess anything up!" Draco looked more frightened now than he did in front of the king. Severus wondered why.

"May I inquire as to why?"

"I need to talk to you."

"You weren't aware that you could have sent me an owl, a Floo call, or some other form of communication that does not include intruding my manor?"

"What ever happened in France?"

It was such an odd divergence from their conversation, or his interrogation, that he paused to figure out what he meant. Severus crossed his arms over his chest and stared at his godson.

"France has nothing to do with you, now that it is my responsibility, therefore it is none of your concern."

"Father's alright, thanks for asking." A sulky mood overtook Draco's face and Severus chuckled.

"Do not attempt to guilt-trip me. Narcissa would have sent word if Lucius was not well. I am confident in his state of being."

"How do you do that?"

"Do what, precisely?"

"Sink into the abyss for four years and just...because of one girl, rise out of it like nothing ever happened."

"I assume you are aware of the concept of a mask."

"How did the know-it-all do it, though? Last time I checked, albeit four years ago, you hated her guts. Her and Potter and that damn Weasley. How could she be the one to bring you back? We all tried."

Severus took that we to mean the Malfoys. No one else gave a damn about his depression. He was still trying to reason out how Draco could have known, but that question could wait. Or maybe not. If he changed the damn subject a bit, he wouldn't have to hear more probing into his recovering mental state.

"She couldn't have told you. She doesn't remember." The statements were slightly questioning and he began to pace a little.

"When you hate someone for a long enough time, their face is crystal clear in your mind. You remember their scowls and their laughs and their tears. You remember them better than your friends and family. A little paleness and a holier-than-thou attitude, the latter not really a change, wasn't going to hide her."

"Interesting."

"How did she do it? Out of everyone who could have saved you, how was it Granger?"

Severus weighed lying about it versus telling the truth and found it was slightly easier if he just got it out in the open. If he hid something, Draco would get tenacious and he would never have peace again.

"She was a thief." He granted the space of time needed for a snicker or a halfway witty comment, but none came. Perhaps he was still thinking of the Hogwarts years. "She was stealing from the medical pallets destined for St Mungos. I had the task of finding the source of the theft and bringing them in. I did so...but she was not the thief I was expecting."

"Tell me about it. It took me a few days to come to terms with it."

"There was..." He hesitated to go into too much detail of his four-year darkness. "A desolation in knowing the Light had failed. I confess myself unwilling to handle it and I strove to bury the loss in my duties. This worked for a time, until I began to loathe myself for what I was doing. It was a never-ending spiral. I did not think I would survive it, until..."

"She popped up into your life like the excited little know-it-all she is."

"Yes." His voice held a sliver of displeasure.

"So she what, wriggled her way into your head?" When there was silence, Draco's eyes widened. "Merlin, no."

Severus didn't say a word, but his godson seemed to catch the drift. He staggered back as though stricken. It was a curious sight.

"You're in love with her?!" He raised his hands in a gesture of 'I don't want to know'. "Is it...I mean, does she...?"

"Reciprocate?"

"Know. Does she know?"

It made him frown. "Explain."

"Merlin, you are horrid at this." It was enough to make Severus breathe out a light chuckle. Draco hadn't had a serious relationship in his entire life, let alone enough of one to lecture him on ability. "Shut up, I know how that sounded."

"By all means, continue." And he did.

"Before what caused her memory loss, did you know what she felt?"

"Relief that they had an ally among the king's men. Nothing more." It shouldn't have stung as much as did.

"She didn't hate you, so there's hope."

"You're as meddlesome as your father."

"Well, someone has to be." Draco's face scrunched in plain discomfort. "Just, Granger? I know she held a torch for your goodness, but...wow."

"Held a torch?"

"Yeah, she wouldn't hear a bad word against you. I heard her telling the rest of her trio to stop mouthing off about you."

He had heard that before. _I always defended you at every turn, berating the boys when they insulted you, refusing to believe their words!_ She had said it with such conviction, stunning him again with how much she believed in him. He had never done anything to call for it and still did nothing to spur that reaction from her. No one ever gave him a thing he hadn't put blood, sweat and tears into earning. It was new and unfamiliar to know someone could trust him and believe in him like that.

His silence must have brought Draco out of a thought process because he shifted and patted his leg.

"I didn't come here to talk about her, not really. I need to know what I can do." At Severus' partially exasperated expression, he elaborated. "To help the light. I need to know what I can do. How I can lend a hand."

"What made you suddenly turncoat?" Not that he didn't understand the wish to, he had done it more times than he could count.

"My lot has never been cast for the king, neither has yours. We've both done what we had to survive or to protect those we love. I'm not switching sides. It would be more accurate to say that I am fully acknowledging my favor of one over the other."

"Do your parents know?"

"I'm almost twenty-two. They don't need to know everything I'm doing anymore."

"This will be exceedingly dangerous."

"I train with the king to use blood magic and ancient runes to transfigure into a form that could kill me." Draco smirked but it was empty. "On his whims at that."

"This will be more than an experiment where the odds of your death are small considering the king has use of you alive. This will be blatantly spitting in the face of his favoritism and hospitality, depriving you of the boon of his mercy. If you do this, cast aside his influence and take up arms against him, there will be no salvation and no return. Once you have made the choice, you must see this through to what ever end and to what ever fate awaits you." Severus did not mean it to sound so ominous, but he knew what the consequences where for spying and playing a double game. His entire life demonstrated the woes that befell his kind.

"That man tortured my father, tried to break my mother spiritually and mentally, has used me to test his own theories and designs and has done more ill to this world than good. I don't care if I sacrifice my life or my safety. If he lives, we are all at risk."

The foyer was still and quiet, the wind outside was howling and a light drizzle of sleet had begun to fall. Severus decided quickly, since there was nothing else do for it, Malfoys were the height of bullheadedness and if he tried to change Draco's mind now he would only serve to increase his willingness to throw it all away if just to prove his conviction, that it was better to have an ally than to have an enemy.

"What do you know of the locket the king gave you?"

* * *

Persephone had realized, as Vanessa told her about the upcoming birthdays, (Andrew was turning eleven, Crispin and Francis were turning eight, Kira, Gordon and Devin were all turning twelve. And all in the same week! She decided to do something for them, but she hadn't decided what.), that she hadn't done anything for the new year.

Today was the first, which she didn't find out until five hours after the King had left again. She would have to wish him a belated happy birthday, since they were antagonizing each other too much to really get a proper word in edgewise. She attempted to get through to him with the children and the state of his kingdom, and though it was working very well in the circumstances, she wanted to make sure that he focused on her. If he was busy with her and the children, he wouldn't be focused on other and possibly harmful things, like the war and Severus.

He had left her in the room she had woken up in, though the children had already been ordered to go back to work, and she had discovered the door unlocked. Part of her had assumed he would lock her up and throw away the key, if for nothing more than an easy way to placate the children. She wondered if he saw her as a sort of governess, except she was working for free and of her own free will. She laughed at that as she repaired her skirt and put her robes back on.

The hall outside the room was a little warm, so she was glad she had decided to leave her cloak and gloves in the room. No children were about, so she wandered around, mapping out the manor as she went.

There were three bedrooms on the first floor, each one reflecting the side of the landscape it had a view of. The one she had been in, which faced the trees, was very earthy and grounded, centered around the way the earth could seem just as powerful as a wizard holding a wand. The other two were facing the expansive field and endless sky, both seeming to go on forever with the help of an almost frightening balcony made of a mixture of stone and glass. She had only been able to stand on the glass bottom of the balcony for a few moments before her stomach had dropped and she hurriedly abandoned the view.

She had seen the wide foyer, the dining hall and the ballroom, so there was no need to go through them, but in her attempt to find the kitchen she stumbled on a small alcove where a book lay next to a half melted candle. There was a worn bookmark in the middle and she curiously peeked to see what was read. The chapter title was, 'The Excaliber of the Modern World'. She left it and continued on. Two sitting rooms and a study completed the first floor.

There was a door that led down into the earth beneath the manor and the stench of blood and bile made her reluctant to pursue that bit of the area and instead she went to the other side, past the ballroom and up a set of stairs to the second floor. She still hadn't seen the children.

Persephone would have continued the self-guided tour, but the first thing she found on the second floor was a library. It was large, with a high ceiling and chandeliers to light the spaces the sun didn't reach. There was yet another balcony and it overlooked the same view as the ballroom balconies. She gave a minute or two to the lake and the trees and the sunny sky before she surrendered to her excitement for the room behind her.

It could have been seconds or hours that she lost herself among the stacks, having a bit of augmented déjà vu when she used her wand to make sure the tomes were safe to touch. There wasn't a certain subject that she gravitated towards, but neither was it a conglomerate of random topics. She gave little thought to what she picked, letting her feeling of contentment linger as she perused the king's extensive library.

He didn't make a sound and did not clear his throat or tap his foot to announce his presence. His long, pale hand wrapped around her neck, over her pulse and she slowly set her current book on the shelf. He didn't move or say anything and she calmed the irrational fear that spiked through her heart. This was Voldemort echoed in her head before the pulsing of an oncoming headache sent that thought into oblivion. His other hand appeared in her peripheral holding a necklace of gold. She could make out the arc of a feather display in the gold that formed a sort of delicate spread of wings. The king leaned down enough that she could feel his breath on her ear.

"Lift your hair."

Persephone responded almost immediately, collecting her hair on top of her head. He set the chilly necklace against her throat and secured it with a small click. It weighed a little heavily on her, but it was beautiful. Like a small collar of feathers that followed the curve of her clavicles and met just above her sternum in an oval ruby. It gleamed like something very familiar and Persephone gathered her courage and the ease that she had around him since the day they met, turning to meet his eyes.

_Yes, exactly like those._

"They're beautiful." She whispered to him and he frowned minutely.

"You mean_ it_ is beautiful?"

"It is, but I was referring to your eyes." His look of discomfort and annoyance came quickly. "Your eyes are like rubies. Is that why you picked it?"

"No." He stepped back, eying her curiously. "The colors are Gryffindor, which suit you."

"I would not know, I did not attend Hogwarts."

"You had no urge to learn when Icarys went or when you met Severus?"

"I had excelled in my studies long before then, I had no need of conventional education."

"Your kind, and my kind as well, want knowledge in all its forms. Whether by convention or not, the more we know the better. It is curious you did not rush at the chance to absorb whatever that school may offer."

"I am not always predictable." She moved away, putting space between them as her hand rose to the necklace. "May I ask the occasion?"

He glanced at the necklace and gave a small smirk. It looked odd on his serpentine face.

"I believe you would be adverse to bearing my Mark. Owls are a constant in our society but also extremely vulnerable to outside influence. Those worthy enough to attract my attention need a means to contact me or, more to the point, for me to contact them. I cannot have Severus pass messages like a teen in class and I will not stoop to owls when I wish to speak to you. That necklace will alert you when I call for you."

"Do you think it that easy to leash me?" Persephone made to unlatch it but could not find the clasp.

"Yes, in fact, I do." The king's ruby eyes flashed with both triumph and glee. "You are not as wise as you perceive yourself."

"So you would collar me like a slave?" She could taste her anger like an acid on her tongue.

"You said yourself you sided with the mudbloods and what are they but slaves to us? It is what you wanted."

She was furious. Never in her life had she been so absolutely livid. Her wand was in her hand, she raised it, but the king merely flicked his fingers. The gold began to restrict, coiling over itself until it wrapped around her throat in a choke-hold. The air in her lungs froze and she remembered the golem's grasp. With both fear and fury, she took a single step forward and caught the king's jaw with her fist. He reeled for a moment, staggering back.

"Hit a nerve, did I?" He grinned at her with his lipless mouth and she hit the ground under the strain of trying to breathe.

"I hate you." She gasped and he chuckled.

"So much for your case of love conquers all." He flicked his hand again and the necklace resumed its original state. "Stand up."

She would have denied him, but that would have meant kneeling at his feet and she would rather die than do that. Persephone stood.

"You have heart, I will give you that, but it is prudent now that you learn your place." The king smirked, taking her hand. She let it lay limp in his.

"And what place is that?"

"We shall see. What did you find so interesting in my library?" He pulled her towards the books, setting a pale hand on a stack of them and sending them neatly to the large table so he could glimpse all their titles. "Memory charms, love potions, oaths and vows..._horcruxes_."

A heavy gaze fell on her and she seemed frozen in place. Persephone blocked her mind, relaxed her body and stared back in earnest. The king stepped nearer. She knew the necklace had renewed his control over her and though he had not marked her like on of his servants, she was still leashed to him and she knew it would only take a word for him to kill her if she overstepped a line. This had not been in her plans, but then again, maybe she had underestimated his resilience and her own power of him. It was hard to swallow, but she did. She grudgingly decided that she deserved it after so long without much obstacle, their unexpected duel not withstanding.

"Now what could you possibly be researching?" He seemed highly suspicious and his right hand lifted up the book on horcruxes, tossing it into the air. The magic of the shelves reacted and the book flew back to its rightful place. He tilted his head, lifting the next book to touch his fingers.

"Who were you going to use a love potion on?" He looked to the book. "Me?"

Even the thought of it was distasteful. She didn't know why she had selected that book, but she had absolutely no desire to trick someone into loving her, that was abhorrent even in the most desperate of times.

"I would not do what your mother did to your father." She said simply.

Suddenly, she was up against the nearest shelf, the wood digging into her back. The king was holding her up with his forearm against her shoulders. His presence was strong and the magic he carried expanded in the air around them. He was so tall and thin, yet he held her up with little to no effort, showcasing the quiet strength beneath his heavy robes.

"How would you know that?" It wasn't cold that she could sense in his tone, if anything it was steel.

"You told me!" She yelped, trying and failing to appear unaffected.

"No, I did not. Was that your plan, to slip me a love potion so we could live_ happily ever after_ with your precious children?"

"That's not love! That's the_ Imperius Curse in a bottle_. I would never do that for love."

"How would I know what you wouldn't do? You could be one of the light, trying to use Severus' status as Slayer and my curiosity to trick me." He was practically hissing in her face.

"You have no faith in anything. You wonder why people fear you and fight you. The only violence between us is what you bring. The only lies between us are the ones you create. Severus has always been loyal, and yet you question him. You are afraid of yourself because you know no one wants to follow you...they believe they must to live."

"I am Lord Voldemort. I am Salazar's heir. I do not need to threaten my way to power."

"And yet you have. You're still in the orphanage playing bully because everyone else is bigger than you. You are a child who never grew up."

She dropped to the floor abruptly. The king had taken a few steps back, watching her like a bug under a microscope. Persephone worked her way back to standing, sighing out of frustration.

"You even have temper tantrums." She stepped away yet again. "I'm going home where I belong."

The necklace was boiling hot and closed over her throat again. The king stepped forward as she cried out, scratching the skin around the gold to pry it off her neck. His eyes narrowed, angry, and he watched her fall to her knees once more. A look overtook his face but she could not say for certain what it was. It terrified her to the core, though.

"You belong here." He said, but it was nearly inaudible. He released her again. Pain lanced through her neck muscles as she righted herself and put as much distance between her and the king as she could. It hurt to swallow and her fingertips ached, somehow she knew the marks would fade before anyone could see them.

"No, you've...made it...perfectly clear that...I don't." Persephone shook her head. "I am going...home."

"Then go. I've had enough of you." he sneered, not moving from his spot between the stacks. "But don't forget the consequences of presuming yourself above me."

There was a promise in his tone that said she would again be on her knees, helpless, because he was king and she was nothing more than a girl pretending to play this game of theirs. It unsettled her to realize that perhaps she was. She didn't want to show her back to him, but she did so all the same. It surprised her when he didn't stop her retreat, but the magical hum from the necklace reminded her. _He doesn't need to anymore._

* * *

Rodolphus stared down at the two vials of blood, one full and the other just a couple drops, and then turned to the scorch marks on his wall where Rabastan had obviously sent out a call for help. It had appeared last night. The words 'Knockturn', 'cell' and 'bookstore' burned into the wall right across from his desk.

Was it relief he felt or a desperate ache because he knew how much Rabastan risked sending this complicated spell?

He and Bellatrix had been terribly busy lately, searching for the two remaining heads of Cerberus, while his brethren tried to advance the negotiations with the giants and the spiders, the werewolves and the vampires and every being in between. The war was coming, he could feel the frenzy it would create and hungered for that moment. He wanted to shed the respectable skin of a pureblood nobleman and bathe in the beautiful darkness he felt when he could rip the life from someone. Their lives would be in his hands and he was their god, deciding when and how they would meet their end.

And maybe one day, there would be a decided winner and he would put away his tools and his bloodlust and sit back in the glory of the new millennia. The Age of Slytherin.

But for now, he must choose whether to test the blood or seek the king's advice on his brother's message. There was a whisper of promise in the failure of a blood match and he pursued the laboratory in their basement.

It wasn't the best a potioneer could ask for, but it would serve his cause. He lit the fire beneath the cauldron, gathered the sparse amount of ingredients he would need and set to work. The potion would only take a half hour, and the results would be instantaneous. He didn't let his mind wander and was very stilted in his motions. Rabastan would have called his skill limited and laughed as he took over.

Time seemed to pass as if he were in slow motion and yet the timer went off in delicate hands, he dumped the two drops into the cauldron stirred once counter-clockwise and dumped Persephone's blood. He waited the two seconds for the potion to decide and gave a feral grin when the smoke turned black.

"Who are you really, Persephone Damasca?" His first response would be to tell the king and wait for his judgement, but that bitch had taken his brother from him; her and her blasted Light!

Bellatrix answered his call, dressed in her average witch robes, and he filled her in on his plan. There was a time when he would have balked at the ease with which he made this decision, but it was not some unknown face that was at risk here. It was Rabastan and it was his responsibility to protect and save his little brother. Besides, it was past the point of no return. His hook needed another body...his hook needed a true member of the Light. It was time to learn the truth about this new paramour.

* * *

**A/N:** Another one done! I'm working out the next few major events, so I'm scared/excited about the next few chapters. Also, a big thank you to **pterodactyls** for pointing out something I can't believe I didn't catch. I have gone back through and changed the name to its proper form! I _have_ realized that LV seems a little _too _soft, so I am attempting to get him back to factory grade by the end of the story. I could always finish this and then go back through with a fine tooth comb and a chisel, but that will be a little into the future. Hope you enjoyed this one and please feel free to review! Tickle2Kill.


	34. Chosen One

~*~Chosen One~*~

Severus was leaning over a book in his library when Persephone finally found him. She had draped a scarf over her neck after she had changed into comfortable clothes and he didn't seem to notice anything was amiss. Every part of her was desperate that he would give her a second glance, pause momentarily, squint a little at her, but he just continued working. She felt a bit defeated. But then again, what would she have had him do? Even if he could remove the necklace, the king would know when she wasn't answering his call and she was actually frightened of what he would do in retaliation.

_Fear is healthy_, she tried to convince herself, _and without it I would be reckless_. Persephone realized quickly that she had been entirely reckless from the moment she left that shack with Severus. No fear, absolute certainty, it was addicting and it created a false shield around her that made her believe she was untouchable. She had danced with the king, talked with the king, reprimanded the king, and she had been fearless enough to believe she would meet no counterattack. But the Cruciatus spared no illusions and that unrelenting pain had broken whatever barrier had held back her fear. She felt it as strongly as it could be felt, crawling along every nerve and muscle, paralyzing her body and mind. She would have to face the king again, just as she was, bare and open and afraid.

She clung to the part of her that roared at the chance, that declared righteously that the king had no power over her. She clung to that voice because she had to.

"Severus, I..."

"How was the king's bed?" He said, frigid as a winter's grave.

It stung. It stung and reminded her of something years ago when she had been a teen. There was a reluctant sorrow at the thought that despite the time, nothing had changed. She was a know-it-all without friends and she would never fit in. Indignation and anger took the place of pain.

"Comfortable for a little, but inhospitable the rest of the time. How was it for you?"

He gazed at her coldly through his hair and she met that gaze, daring him to cast her under the Knight Bus for doing what he had done for years. He chuckled, but it did not melt the ice between them.

"Are you injured?"

Persephone stepped forward, sitting across from him at the thick wooden work table. He was scribbling a wall of letters in a slightly crooked line, feverishly filling up the parchment held down by a large candle. The sunlight was coming through at an odd angle and did not provide enough light.

"Happy New Year." She whispered with a tense smile. "And no...I'm not injured."

"But you were." It wasn't a question. He turned a page and ran his left forefinger along the first paragraph. A frown formed on his brow.

"I was."

"Did he figure out your riddle?"

She sat back in astonished realization. She had forgotten about that. "Not entirely, though he may yet do so. How did you know I was injured?"

"The Cruciatus is hard to hide. The muscles do not respond as they should, even after treatment. You pause every third step, hesitate when you sit and your left hand keeps clenching into a fist." He gestured with the end of his quill to get the point across.

She tucked her left hand beneath the table. It did tremble, even at rest. "How do you know so much about it?"

Severus gave an empty smile and furiously scribbled out what he had just written. "How many years do you think I've been in his service? How many years was I also serving the light? It would not be difficult to expect that the king's anger be taken out on his lackluster double agent."

Persephone hesitated before she answered. He sounded so bored with it, but she could see the crease around his eyes that bespoke of stress. "What...?" She began, but he cut her off, speaking like a Professor and less like the flesh and blood man across from her.

"The Cruciatus attacks the nerves by way of the synapses in our brains. It allows the caster to quite literally play with the pain receptors all over your body, to pluck and pinch and cut at the nerves that will hurt you the most. Bellatrix and her husband know of this, but none surpasses the king's aptitude with pain. He seeks out your threshold, using his gifted talent with Legilimens, and brings you to the very edge. He hovers you like a marionette an inch from numbness and leaves you there. He lets you know that there is hope for a reprieve and then binds you from ever reaching it. He says, there is no real despair without hope. It is never more true than in the practice of a mastered Cruciatus."

Persephone was not just fearful, she was ready to run. If what Severus said was true, she had only tasted the beginnings of what was possible. Why was the Killing curse so scary? At least she knew it would be over fast. Immediately, she clammed up. Thinking of death as she was, simply reiterated her fear and she couldn't let herself be swayed so much by it. "You have not offered to heal me."

"That is because I cannot. The king has already administered the best treatment for prolonged or multiple exposure to the curse."

"How would you know I wasn't just strong enough to take it?"

He shook his head as though to rid himself of a stubborn fly. "If he hadn't treated you, you wouldn't be able to walk, your body would spasm and jerk in such a way to cause personal harm. If the curse was held long enough, the residual currents could cause spasms severe enough to fracture bone, dislocate joints, even rupture organs. The simple fact that you are coherent and mobile means you've been treated by a master healer."

"The king doesn't heal things." She argued, angry but unsure why. Part of her was angry because Severus seemed to speak from experience and she couldn't imagine that type of pain being inflicted on him. She would kill the person who tried to harm him in such a fashion.

"You think because he maims and kills that he's limited to one field of study? He did not achieve his classic look until much later in life and he was and will always be paranoid. He had no personal healer, so he learned to heal himself. Any wound he can inflict he can mend, if he should see fit to do so."

"So I'm fortunate." She deadpanned, watching the sun filter in lazily. "Why does it matter?"

He paused, setting his quill in its inkwell and steepling his long fingers. There wasn't a drop of ink on them. She could sense tension in his shoulders and see a shut off expression on his face.

"I told you once that it was my responsibility to protect you. It matters if your stubbornness and fearlessness cause me to fail in that regard. Your well-being, whether you wish it so or not, is mine to watch over. It does not matter if it is the king who harms you, because all injury to your person is my fault. It signifies that I have failed to protect you and I cannot allow that to be. I dislike having to repeat this to you."

She almost wished it was affection in his voice, but it appeared to be nothing more than duty and honor. Persephone swallowed. Her body felt like it an errant bolt of electricity was running through it, chasing the relaxed parts of her until every inch was a taut shield of clenched muscles.

"I angered him...I was wrong in my presumption that I did not fear him and he would not harm me. He..." She pressed a hand to her neck and the gold necklace that lay beneath the scarf. "He made it a point to let me know my place among his court. At his feet and on my knees."

"You will _never_ belong at anyone's feet." There was such steel in his tone that she believed him.

"Nor will you."

He laughed. "That is the only place I've been allowed to belong."

"Soon, we will change that." She looked away from his gaze because it had become almost penetrating and she didn't want scrutiny, not right now. "What are you working on?"

Severus seemed to remember that he had work to do and picked up his quill. "I'm researching horcruxes and their many forms as well as their weaknesses. I may have one to test on soon."

"Really?" She opened her mouth to ask him how he had been able to acquire one, but he raised his hand.

"I will not tell you more. If your best use is at the king's side, then the less you know about our progress the better. Rest assured, we are making headway."

"How was France?" She asked instead.

"Refreshing, in a purging sense. You would like Minister Boudin." He found his place again and wrote another sentence.

"You would like the children." She smiled as she thought of them.

"Children?" He asked, looking up.

"The muggleborns he has at his manor. I've sort of..." She didn't know how to say it. She loved the children and she wanted to protect them and take care of them. But they had mothers and fathers, they were not her own.

"You've become attached?"

"Yes."

"Will it help you get nearer to the king?"

"It may...but I don't want them to get hurt in that scheme. They're children, innocent children." She met Severus' black eyes, trying to convey the amount of fear she was now living with. How had she brought so much into the fire with her? "I don't want to be the reason he chooses to end them."

"We cannot predict the king's moods or how he will weigh their lives against his goals. The most we can do is try to be careful from this point forward. Do not give him reason to use them against you."

"I will try."

"That is all you can do." They grew quiet for a moment until Severus sighed. "There is mail for you."

Persephone left the library with a letter in her right hand to head for her room. Now that he had drawn attention to it, she felt each third step hitch right as she made to put it back down and her fingers on her left hand shook as if she was experiencing some form of PTSD. She knew of this ailment and hoped she had not been too effected by the attack. Absolute immunity to the outright cruelty she had endured was no longer an option. Once she was sitting on her bed, she opened the letter. It was from Yaxley.

"_Miss Persephone,_  
_I would like to meet you for lunch tomorrow at Gabian's Cafe. I realize this may come unprovoked, but I think we would both benefit from a meeting. Hope to see you there._  
_Y._"

Logic told her to ignore this letter, set it aside or throw it out. After all, Severus had told her that Yaxley was working with Rodolphus Lestrange to undermine him at the school, but she might be able to put herself to good use. If Yaxley didn't suspect she knew anything, he wouldn't have cause to attack her to get her out of the way. Besides, she might even learn something along the way that will help Severus. She couldn't help with the horcruxes and the king had off-set her too much to go running back.

She changed into fresh witches robes and made her way downstairs. Severus was still in the library and he didn't look up at her. _I won't be gone for long_, she thought to herself and swiftly went out the front door.

* * *

Harry knew instinctively that it was going to take more than a spiritual visit with Sirius to get him off the hospital bed and up on his feet. He tried not to sleep much as it always felt frightening to close his eyes and not know if he was going to ever be able to open them again. The Mediwitches and wizards that came through his room advised him to find time anyway.

They came by for a few hours every day to help him exercise his body so he might one day stand, but it was slow going. They massaged salves and special ointments into his skin to speed along the process of his recovery but Harry still felt like and invalid. Moody tried to keep him from knowing the most of the wartime happenings, but it just felt like his fifth year all over again and he refused to allow the man to shut him off.

"Once upon a time, I was kept in the dark. People died. The end." He stared at the old Auror until the man sat back with an irritated huff.

"Dying doesn't make you Dumbledore."

"It made me the Pope." At Moody's quirked brow, he elaborated. "Well, a king was crowned because of me."

"You weren't even awake."

"How many times has that mattered to Vol-" he stopped himself by biting his tongue. "The king?"

"You aren't his sworn enemy anymore. The horcrux that connected you is gone."

At Moody's response, Harry fell short. He hadn't focused on the fact, until right that moment, that his mind was deliciously clear and empty, wholly his own and not cluttered by the soul fragment that had occupied that space inside him where every doubt and sorrow had lived. He could breathe without fear of something breathing with him, he could close his eyes and not see someone else. It had been so long that the suddenness of this situation felt wrong and uncomfortable like a missing tooth except it was in the fabric of his being.

He missed the part of him that was part of someone else.

He had explained to Moody, the Order and the Weasleys about the things he had learned during his chat with Dumbledore. Some of them surprised, others sickened, and eventually their minds turned to how best to use the information they had. Molly visited him often to talk, usually with some form of sweet in her small basket, and would avoid the topic of the king or of the state of the refuge in exchange for updating him on all the social happenings and simply reassuring him that she cared.

Arthur showed him the new cell phones and pictures of the new cars the muggles had on the outside. He had gushed for almost two hours about the new TV he had gotten when he was able to get out of the refuge. Molly grumbled about the wires and such littered across their backyard, but Arthur had just cheerfully smiled and shown him a camcorder.

The twins visited when they could, joking back and forth about Harry's condition in such a way that he could join them. He liked spending time with them because they accepted his weakness and helped him see the bright side of it. They offered to make him leg braces if he couldn't get his legs to work right, because Arthur had shown them a show called the Bionic Man and they had bursts of inspiration from it. He politely declined the arm rockets they had sketches of in their project journal.

Neville and Luna visited him together and they were sympathetic to his pool of darkness after everything he'd been through. They listened to him rant about everything from the Dursleys to the Whomping Willow and he felt so much lighter once he talked it out. Neville and Harry would talk alone sometimes about the prophecy and the mere chance that either of them could have been the Chosen One. They formed a sort of bond over it, becoming a bit like brothers because of circumstances they had no control over. Besides, only Neville really understood what he was feeling when he let his mind rest on the absence of his mother and father and on the strain it caused to know what they had sacrificed for him. He found himself crying a lot, but Neville was crying as well so he never grew self-conscious about it. It felt good to connect properly to someone.

"You aren't the only one who wants to see that bastard pay. He has built his enemies into a tower that will one day destroy him. But you don't have to be the Chosen One anymore." Moody was saying once he pulled himself out of his reminiscence.

Harry was aggravated with the disappointment he felt in his bones. Wasn't that exactly what he had wanted? Didn't he dream of being absolutely nothing to Voldemort, because it was his importance to that man that got his parents killed, that had almost killed his friends? Shouldn't it feel like a victory to be without that burden?

It didn't.

Ginny had told him Hermione was masquerading as Snape's lover in Voldemort's court, that she was going to be tempting the king as frequently as possible...like bait. She had also told him about her new duties and the rest of their friends' new lives now that Voldemort was king. He knew he should be happy that everyone had excelled, but he couldn't help thinking, if he had just fought Voldemort with all the information that everyone would be starting new jobs at the Ministry and living safe, happy lives. Instead, he had woken up to an underground town where his friends, who have been through enough and survived enough to earn their time in the sun, were huddled in the shadows like insects from a boot. And until he could stand, he could do nothing.

"So I'm not special. Was that the reason everyone gave a damn about me; because I was unique in ways that crippled V-the king?" He wanted to say he kept calm, but there was a cold hardness settling in his chest. Did he even have friends without Parseltongue, nightmares and a target on his head?

"Is that what you're sitting on your bum telling him now?" Ron came in like a ray of light, bringing food with him. Hooked over his elbow was a satchel full of books. His best friend set his offerings around Harry's feet and ignored Moody's answer long enough to lean down and pull him into a hug. Harry didn't really want to let go.

"He needs to know the truth."

"Who's truth is that? I'll admit that his scar and his celebrity status is what initially caught my attention, but I didn't become friends with The-Boy-Who-Lived." Ron was setting the food out in a spread on a transfigured platter, pushing the books down a little further from the food. Seeing him think of the state of the books as well as the arrangement of the food made Harry proud. "I became friends with the boy who shared Chocolate Frogs with me after only having known me for a half hour. I became friends with the boy who didn't laugh at me, my name, my pet rat or my hand-me-down robes. Harry's more than what either Dumbledore or Voldemort deem him to be. I won't hear another word about it."

Harry felt warm at the defense and Moody's heavy sigh. "I'll leave the rest of the debriefing up to you, then."

Once the old Auror had left, Harry settled his gaze on Ron. "What're the books for?"

"Well," Ron said, handing Harry a sandwich and some chips. "If Hermione were here she would want you to be as prepared as possible. I borrowed some textbooks from Flitwick. If you can't fight, you might as well train."

The forethought of his best friend made him pause, staring at the youngest Weasley son with a look of borderline incredulity.

"Hey!" Ron pointed a finger at him with narrowed eyes. "Don't start that. I've had four years to grow up. It makes sense, after all. You've got your wand."

"I have you to thank for that."

"It was luck your bum didn't land on it!"

Harry laughed.

He and Ron ate their fill, talking of the refuge and how it worked, the newcomers and the originals, the flight from the school from Ron's point of view, and what had led to the current events. Instead of feeling sorry about it, Harry got angry.

"I need to do something." He whispered harshly as Ron recounted the near-Snatching of Dean Thomas.

"Yeah, and you will. 'Cept there's the little problem of not yet being able to stand. One move at a time, eh?"

Harry's fists tightened at his sides and he bit his tongue. Wait. Patience. Things he had never been that good at. Well, now he didn't have a damn choice in the matter. With poor grace, he tugged a book toward him. Ron patted his shoulder and muttered a quick goodbye, leaving him to the words of a long dead witch whose foreword began with a single sentence.

"_It is not the hatred of evil that gives us dominion over it, but the understanding of it_."

How much did he understand? Maybe he knew what Dumbledore had told him and maybe he believed all of it, but really what did he honestly know? Voldemort had been the big bad since he came to - well, came back to - the wizarding world. His name had been not just Harry, but Harry Potter The Boy Who Lived. He had been defined by his mother's sacrifice long before he had a chance to introduce himself.

And he wasn't just defined by his mother, he was also defined by the man who had taken her from him. He was nothing to anyone without first having been that boy who survived Voldemort's killing curse. He was glorified for an act he could only remember in small flashes because the traumatic magic and the soul fragment aided his retention, but that act had not been of his own doing. It was his mother and father who stood bravely before the threat, it was his mother who refused to let him be killed, it was Voldemort that had cast the horrid curse and ripped away any chance of a normal life.

He was lucky to be just a victim, a bystander, an unreliable witness. A baby who hadn't understood until too late the true meaning of all that had happened. He was a one year old child, useless and soft, and he hadn't been Chosen enough to spare his parents their fate. His entire life he had been so very weak and useless.

He could remember his first proper memory, years and years ago, when he had barely been able to stand and yet he was reprimanded for stumbling. He could see it as though it were happening now. It had been Christmas time and Dudley was throwing a tantrum because the toy everyone had talked about on the flicker box was sold out and even Vernon's mustache and standing hadn't been able to free up one for their butterball son. Harry had gotten a new pacifier and one of Dudley's old onesies. He remembered how it felt to watch the majority of the presents stack up away from him. He remembered the joy on Dudley's face and wondered how it must have felt to be so happy. He wondered years later why he hadn't cried like Dudley when he was only given two things.

He knew now, just as well as he knew his name. It was because he believed that was all he was worth. Two small presents and a spanking when his tummy didn't take too well to Aunt Petunia's mashed potatoes and he spewed all over her nice holiday dress. He was poor unwanted Harry, the boy without a mother and father, without love. He had been content all those years ago, before he had gone to school and seen how others lived. Still, if he saw a present on his birthday or Christmas, he had to stare at it and blink and scrub his eyes. He wasn't worth more than a cheap binky and hand-me-down onesies. He wasn't worth notice, let alone praise. He was only good for get beatings and doing the washing, maybe cooking once he was tall enough to look over the pan.

What did he understand about evil and true darkness?

"_Darkness, or evil, is not in the form your parents told you about when you were tempted to sneak out of the house. It is not limited to the Boogeyman, which exists in both muggle and wizard culture. It is also not limited to figures such as Grindelwald from the start of this century. Darkness is more mercurial than that._

"_I will begin this segment by addressing one thing: Darkness is a common thread in the tapestry of our lives, it cannot be cut and it cannot be exchanged for a new, better thread. Darkness is not physical as we perceive it to be, but instead it is more like fire. Fire is neither gas nor liquid nor solid and yet it is. Fire can bring chaos and pain, but also cleansing and comfort. Darkness should be viewed in much the same fashion for the truth of the matter is that it is neither helpful nor harmful nor neutral and yet it is. Darkness can bring death and injury, but also rest and protection._

"_The Dark Arts are much the same. Allow me to list a few spells I believe will get my point across_."

Harry read through the list, noticing a few spells that even Aurors used. They were even in the curriculum for those wanting a career in that field. Harry memorized the movements, vaguely drawing shapes in the air with his finger since he didn't want to lose concentration with his wand and accidentally blow up his hospital room. He flipped the page eagerly. The woman went on about the pros and cons of using the Dark Arts, warning against blood magic or summoning rites, saying those were dangerously unstable to perform unless highly trained in the 'classics' of ancient magic.

There was a whole section, about two hundred pages, dedicated to ancient magic where she went into detail about its uses in healing and bonding of marriages and the fellowships of brotherhood. She mentioned that the sisters of the faith would use the blood magic to ease troubled pregnancies and to grant warriors the strength of their ancestors.

He wouldn't need any of that. Harry turned instead to the counter-curses and shield magics that he could anchor using runes. Hermione would have a field day with this book, but he had a feeling she might have already. If Ron was handing it out so freely, then he knew Hermione had probably pored over it and fretted and memorized and eventually cleared it for public consumption. Sometimes she was as bad as Madam Pince.

"_Evil_," the witch went on. "_Like fire, can brand the soul. It leaves a darkness that cannot be erased. Even those that believe that light magic is without marks, bear their deeds on the tablet of their souls. The darkness, however, leaves a more lasting impression_."

And how he knew that well.

"_But one must keep in mind, trial by fire, or the purge experienced through submerging in darkness, will not only mark the soul, but strengthen it. Some things can only be learned by living them. I am sure, if you are reading this, then you know I am correct_."

_No promises, Sagitta_.

Harry fell asleep somewhere between the chapter on Cold Curses and Athenian Stone Veins.

* * *

Persephone stood up immediately.

She had come as Yaxley had asked and was waiting curiously for the wizard's arrival, ordering a water to satisfy her thirst. The waiter asked after her day and who she was waiting on and mentioned something like having a free appetizer right out. Persephone wasn't really hungry.

At first, she supposed he wasn't coming. The sun was beaming down and her robes were irritating against her neck, a small bead of sweat making her shift uncomfortably. It was winter, deep in it too, but one couldn't tell by the warming charms being bandied about like cheap candy. The residual bubble of heat made her feel sticky.

Yaxley had made her wait for an hour and a half. She had contemplated leaving and fought with herself until she stayed, nibbled on the fish and chips the waiter brought and tried valiantly not to think of the king.

"Miss Persephone." He said, sitting across from her smoothly. She had barely heard his footsteps.

"Was it your intention to be so late?" She sounded about as welcoming as a dragon.

Yaxley barely flinched under her ire and, instead, turned away a little. His hands kept drumming a beat on the side of the table he was on and he wouldn't meet her eyes. He was wearing a neat tie and pin and his cologne drifted over to her pleasantly. She didn't hate this man, but if he was actively planning to hurt Severus like the King had hurt her...she would not hesitate to be rid of him now.

"Is something the matter?" She asked calmly, stowing away her anger.

"You shouldn't have come." He sighed it like a curse under his breath, but she heard.

"You asked me to come."

"As far as you know, I could be dangerous. Snape isn't exactly a favorite among us."

"He is favored by the king." Of course, he was. She had seen the favoritism the great king had shown for her Severus. After all, if Dumbledore still lived the king would still be a lord.

"That does not grant him immunity from our hatred." Yaxley glanced around for a moment and Persephone followed his gaze. She saw nothing but storefronts and patrons. "I'm sorry for this, but if Rodolphus is correct...then it should not surprise you."

"What are you...?" Suddenly, a hand came up from behind her and covered her mouth.

Persephone kicked out, using the stability of the table as leverage, and toppled over backwards. The person behind her grunted at the landing, their grip tightening over her mouth. She reached up, dragging the cloth of the man's shirt over his face and elbowing him in the kidneys. He fell sideways and she rolled as fast as she could in the other direction. Her robes were cumbersome now so she cast them aside, pulling her wand.

She never got a chance to get off the ground. A heeled boot stomped down on her stomach and she gasped for air. The foot pressed right on her chest and she cast a curse as silently as she could. The owner of the foot screeched, leaping backwards as her foot burned.

"Little _bitch_!" Persephone finally got a chance to see who it was. Bellatrix Lestrange stood a couple feet from her, putting out the flames on her boot. Rodolphus crawled over to her and grabbed her by her hair. Persephone fought, gazing around for help, but Yaxley simply remained seated and the owner of Gabian's had closed the door. No one was coming to help her. She was all alone. It wouldn't be the first time.

She cast another curse at Bellatrix, who had resumed her attack, and bit Rodolphus' hand as he tried to cover her mouth again. A fist hit her right on the jaw and she faltered for all of a second before returning the punch. Blood filled her mouth when he punched her again and Yaxley muttered something urgently.

"The little bitch doesn't need her face, Yaxley." Bellatrix laughed, stepping forward to tug her head backwards. It appeared her hair had changed hands. "The king won't need this face."

Persephone spit at the woman, kicking yet again. Her leg was caught and she was tipped backwards until she hit the ground. Rodolphus cast a spell so quickly she couldn't counter it and ropes coiled over her body. Her wand was yanked from her hand and broken. She gasped in anger, feeling both helpless and furious at once. A self-satisfied look came over Rodolphus' face and he pushed her down harder into the stone of the sidewalk.

"Two in a month. You've got some very bad luck." Rodolphus grinned like a demon, brushing her hair back. "I bet you remember the first, don't you? How did you like losing it, then?"

Bellatrix patted her husband's shoulder. "Let's get her to the metal room, husband."

"No. She's going to be on my hook."

She didn't know what they were talking about and she didn't want to but Rodolphus aimed his wand at her head and the world went black.

* * *

**A/N: **Sooooo sorry this took so long, but I didn't want to rush certain parts and I fretted over half this chapter to bits. Hope it turned out alright. As always, please review. All my love, Tickle2Kill.


	35. Get Out Alive

**A/N**: Warning: **Rodolphus is not kind** in this chapter. **Graphic torture** ahead be. Those without the stomach for it or those that aren't used to 'Dean in Hell' or maybe Hellraiser horribleness, avert ye eyes. You've been warned me mateys.

~Get Out Alive~

Whatever spell had been used to knock her out left her dizzy and disoriented, turning her world into a mesh of half-formed images. The light of the sun was far too bright and it hurt her eyes; she squinted at her surroundings. Voices fluttered into her head like buzzing bees, echoing in the open space of her mind and piercing the bubble around her head only enough to confuse her further. She wanted to rub her eyes to clear the blurriness, but something was holding her arms above her head and she couldn't lift her legs. She cracked open her mouth to ask for help, but nothing came out and she reopened the split in her lip in process. Wincing at the sting, she shifted enough to turn her head. A blobby face appeared in her vision with a cartoonish wide grin and sharp looking white teeth.

"Hello, my little dear. Awake yet?" The voice was familiar, like an annoying relative or a despised former instructor, but she couldn't quite place it. She shook her head and tried to ask for water. Her blinks must have been exaggerated or she must have dozed because when she saw the blobby face again it was a couple feet away and in front of her. Cerulean eyes crinkled at the corners and that voice met her ears again.

"You must be alert for this next part, my little dear. Drink up."

Suddenly cool liquid was in her mouth and it soothed the dryness that had plastered her tongue to the roof of her mouth. She gulped it down eagerly. After a moment, her vision cleared and her head steadied itself. She saw the person across from her properly for the first time. He was wearing tailor fit trousers in white but no shirt and an apron of some waterproof material, possibly dragon hide. It was the oddest and thinnest white leather she had ever seen, like part of a dragon's wing. Persephone realized it might just be that. Rodolphus Lestrange smiled at her.

"Hello, my little dear." He tilted her head up with his fingertips on her chin. His other hand gently brushed her hair from her face. Rodolphus was treating her like a child, with affection and concern. "You took that subdue hex rather hard. It effects us all differently, but you were an interesting set of symptoms. It took me an hour to wake you."

"Let me go." She said, but it might as well have been a mouse scuttling across the floor for all the good it did. She was naked and cold and desperately terrified.

"We've only just got you here. It would be very rude of you to leave so abruptly." He petted her cheek with his knuckles. "Which hand do you write with?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Well, you punch with your right..." He reached above her and undid some knot that she couldn't quite see, extending her right arm out to the side by the rope around her wrist. He tied this to a piece of metal jutting out of the wall and stepped behind her.

"What are you doing?" She whispered, sick to her stomach with the idea of what he could want from her.

"The hooks hold better if you insert them from the back. If you hold still, I won't cause any undue damage. Be a good little dear, okay?" His voice had taken on a calming quality, almost reassuring.

"What hook?" She made to ask, but he got a solid grip on her shoulder and with a forceful thrust shoved a polished steel meat hook through her shoulder and out the front. It came out slightly underneath her clavicle. It wasn't a scream that came out of her mouth, not so much as a banshee's call.

The pain was unlike anything she had experienced in her entire life. It radiated in her bones and in her nerves and what lasting damage the Cruciatus had done was exacerbated by the ripped flesh of her shoulder. Her entire body was shaking like a leaf, jerking uncontrollably. Persephone wept.

"Now, now. No tears, my little dear. It upsets me so." He stepped to her left side and lowered her left arm just as he had her right. "Soon I'll untie you and you will be free. You will like that, won't you, my little dear?"

She closed her mind, much like she had when she was working out her Occlumens, and it helped to zone out the next hook's painful entry. But what she lost in pain, she gained in everything else. She felt the jarring of her body, heard the squishing sound of flesh wet with blood, tasted bile in her throat, smelled the coppery substance as it ran in rivulets down her body. She would bleed out before he did anything else.

He seemed to hear her thoughts. "Don't worry, I will take care of you now."

He vanished the ropes around her wrists and her hands fell limply to her sides. The jolting as they slammed into her body set her teeth on edge. She swung freely on the hooks now, her toes a mere stretch off of the white floor.

"You make me proud," Rodolphus muttered, clapping his hands. "No scream that time."

"To hell with you!" She yelped, but the energy it took to be angry just made her weak.

"We cannot go where we already reside, my little-"

"Call me that again and I will end you." Perhaps not so weak.

"No? What about my lovely? Or better yet, my queen?" He laughed aloud. "Yes, I was wrong. As you wish, my queen."

He shoved her forward and she bit her lip to stem the scream in her lungs. Persephone wanted to go away, she wanted to fly out of this place. Like a bird, she thought with some irony in her head, I want to take wing and escape here. She felt the cold metal of the king's necklace against her throat. He had never mentioned how to call him, nor if she could on her own whimsy. But she didn't want the king. She wanted Severus, she wanted safety, she wanted her mum and her dad and her grandmother's hugs. She wanted the warmth of the fire at Christmas while Harry opened presents and the feel of the sun on her face. She wanted to dance to the Weird Sisters with Viktor Krum and fight with Ron. She wanted to go home.

That world faded as Rodolphus caught her attention. Quite suddenly, she couldn't remember what she had been doing if it was not wallowing in pain. He held up his wand. Through the white haze of agony, she didn't hear his words. Suddenly he began to cauterize her wounds with the metal inside, sealing her to the hooks. She did not care who heard her. Persephone screamed.

"Now," he said, kissing her sweating forehead. "Let's redecorate."

* * *

Severus felt it in his chest with gut-wrenching clarity. His quill fell from his hand and he doubled over. The pain was immense, blossoming outward like a flower to every part of him. He wasn't sure if he was too late or just on time, but he was too wound up by the pain to tell. At first, he simply let it runs its course, breathing deeply. When it ebbed, he dashed upstairs screaming for Persephone. The pain grew with each passing second and he realized very quickly that he couldn't breathe.

Persephone's room was empty and a letter was sitting innocently on her desk. Severus was gasping for breath, a hand pressed down hard on his chest, and he stepped into the room. He snatched it up and read it in less than thirty seconds. Yaxley. What depth of foolishness had she stooped to now?

Gabian's was busy at this time of day, more often than not the bulk of the patrons could come and go without alerting anyone of their importance. He had dined there many times when he was tired of looking at his students or his lonely dining table. It was roughly two in the afternoon and she must have left before noon and there was no way to know where they might have taken her.

Severus contemplated calling the Light, asking for assistance, but he knew they would view this as a breach of oath. He didn't need the rigamarole of a proceeding and he didn't want to have to trudge through their number to find a suitable partner in retrieving her. Just as well, seeing as the disconnect between them was the only thing keeping him safe from suspicion. Sometimes it is truly better to go it alone.

He need intel, something concrete to being his search from. Someone had to have seen something at Gabian's or a least known where she had gone. The paramour of the Slayer and the talk of the society gossips was sure to have been noticed by someone. The king might even be having her followed. There was one way to find out.

He was out of the manor and Apparating away as the pain could dug into him again. He rode the suffocating tunnel of apparation in a state of agony. He was still alive and that meant she was as well. He had to hurry, he had to get to her. Nothing in his life had ever been so urgent. Well, perhaps when he had ran to Albus asking for his help. But that was years ago and Lily had died and taken his happiness with her. Albus had been no help then and he would be no help now. There was no aid to come from a portrait hanging in the headmaster's office...not anymore.

He had never been so afraid of anything in his life. He didn't make oaths lightly, but he had made this one rather hastily, mostly out of spite for Moody and his prejudice. He had suffered for years in that same sort of light, being branded and shunned because of someone else's assumptions. It wasn't new and he shouldn't have responded as he had, but he was always susceptible to the goading of those that saw him as some slithering beast. It might have been pride, he knew the failings of it, and he admitted that it was one of his flaws.

A flaw set to end him as surely as his enemies.

There was a frigid breeze blowing from the north when he opened his eyes and looked out across the sloping hills before him. A seagull called out as it swooped over the distant water and another three answered. Severus stepped forward, weaving his way through the overgrown grass, his boots slipping on the wet earth that descended steadily towards the water. The sky was stormy and grey, with fast moving clouds and a light spray of the promised deluge. His cloak kept out most of the moisture.

Up ahead, set against the rocks, was a lopsided shack with walls and a door that blended into the rock face. The only thing that would alert an onlooker to its true nature would be the stovepipe chimney sticking out from the top and the laundry on the clothesline. A steady flow of smoke was being chased into the sea and soft, lilting music was floating over to him. Severus knocked, clenching his fist to stop himself from crying out. The pain in his chest was fast becoming overwhelming.

"_'Old on!_" A man's voice called out to him, getting closer as he continued to sing along with his music.

The door opened without a sound and a man half Severus' height appeared, looking at his knees. His hair was a bright orange and his eyes were a light brown, his face scrunched up at the cold and the wind. His vest was decorated in golds and greens and his shoes came to a curled point.

"Well, if it isn't the old Slayer. What brings you by?"

"Has anything happened in Diagon Alley today?"

"Well, Margarita did try to neuter me for taking her blueprints and Castor's been playing coy about his brother's progress on that ward-breaker doodad he promised me..."

"I've no time for games, Laurence!" Severus advanced, reaching for the little man, but he was a feline animagus and very agile. He dodged right out of reach and still managed to block the door.

"Alright, alright!" Laurence held up his hands, his lips curved in a pout. "Still treating me like a bug after I helped you with the Amalats. No such thing as gratitude anymore."

"Laurence..." Severus said with a fierce warning, his hand halfway to his pocket where his wand lay.

"I said, alright." Laurence reached over and grabbed a book, turning his back and walking into the shack. Severus followed, closing the door, the heat of a roaring fire hitting him in the face like a warm wet rag.

Laurence had disappeared into the next room and was flipping through the book with interest. Severus made his way through the cluttered halls, filled up with books, muggle devices, candles and quills, feathers and odd bits of jewelry. The place looked set to collapse in on itself in a glittery implosion.

"Okay, at four in the morning a delivery came to Flourish and Blotts. Not what you're looking for? Alright, at eight a bum from Knockturn tried to steal a broom from a display outside Quality Quidditch Supplies. You don't care about that sort of thing. Uh, at noon there was an altercation at Gabian's. Two wizards and a witch attacked another witch and made off with her. The witnesses supposed it was an errant daughter trying to run from a betrothal since one of the men did not participate in the fighting."

"That," Severus was forced to sit as the pain was making it hard to stand. "Tell me everything you know about that."

* * *

The blades against the bottom of her feet were incredibly sharp and if she did not keep her feet up they would slice into her flesh like a knife through butter. This device of torture had been recently implemented and already she was struggling to pull her knees up without proper support. It was so very tempting to just relax, to allow herself the briefest of respites, but she knew it would only end in more pain. Rodolphus had stepped away for a bit, to get a few things he had said, and left her dangling from the hooks in her shoulders.

Persephone was not entirely present as much as she was a member of the audience. When Rodolphus would come and bring with him a new design, smiling and calling her his queen, she would retreat and someone else would rise. That someone would bite out scathing remarks, would bait the man that hurt them so, would laugh as Persephone wished to cry. It aggravated their captor and he would remove one device to try another more painful one. The other one would laugh louder and would kick and spit and rebel simply to have the satisfaction of seeing Rodolphus furious. Persephone was a creature of fear compared to this other self.

_There is no patronus_, she muttered to herself, _there will be no help for me. I am captured and that means good as dead. I am good as dead._

_Well_, she heard a harsh voice so much like her own reply, _I will not die placidly. If this bastard wants to kill me, he will have to try harder than this. I did not break under Bellatrix's thumb and I shall not break under his._

_We are not strong enough_, Persephone lamented as her feet brushed against the blades below.

_You are not_, the voice said unkindly, _but then you are not me_.

_Of course I am!_

_You are a mask, one I wear because the choice was taken from me to wear my own face. You are a shade, a shadow, a lie. You are what Moody thought I had to be to be of use. I couldn't be a Mudblood and a spy, no! Mudbloods are too slow to know subterfuge, are too dull-witted to be helpful! And a Mudblood's all I am to them. The nerve of these entitled bastards! As bad as Voldemort!_

Persephone groaned at the screaming in her head. "Enough, enough, enough."

"No, my queen, not yet." Rodolphus stepped forward, his apron splattered with her own blood. "You haven't told me the truth. Naughty girl."

"I don't know what truth you want from me! I don't know anything." Persephone could not take much more. This was not anything she was prepared for. Rodolphus' hand was warm and dry on her face and she reluctantly leaned into it. Her other self sneered in disgust, but she was so very cold.

"Oh, now do not pretend with me." He was running his other hand through her hair, softly and gently, almost cooing at her in a kind tone as he spoke. "I know you serve the light. I may not know your filthy name or how close you are to the top, but I know who your masters are."

"I have no master!" She screamed at him and Persephone mentally covered her ears as her other self took over. "I'm not like you monsters, I don't have a mark to prove I'm someone's _slave_! I don't serve anyone! Least of all _Voldemort_, that shriveled excuse for a wizard!"

Rodolphus backhanded her with his once welcoming hand and she spun on her hooks. Her face was throbbing where he had hit her, the skin there already bruised and battered. He had hit her so many times and she had tried to be good. Persephone was sobbing but her other self would not allow the liquid to run down their cheeks. She just wanted to do what he said, she just wanted to please him and make him stop.

"How dare you speak his name!" Her captor grabbed hold of her chin and pressed his wand against her lips. "I'll have your tongue out for this."

"Take it! You think I care what you do to me? I won't break because you tell me to."

"Oh? Well, we shall see about that." Rodolphus sent a curse at her leg and a distinct snap echoed through the room. Persephone cried out, tears cascading down her cheeks. The white hot pain washed over her whole body and she turned her face away from him. Her other self was fuming, desperate for a wand or the use of her arms. Rodolphus' mood changed in an instant and his hands were back in place. He avoided her bruised flesh and caressed her jaw, his eyes taking in the moisture now running down her face. Persephone's tears had won out.

"Don't make me harm you, my queen." He licked her cheek clean of tears and pressed another kiss to her forehead. "I don't want to have to do this."

"I'll kill you." She whispered through her tears and Persephone flinched.

"You'll do no such thing. The light and all its like abhorred the loss of life. You wouldn't kill a mosquito if it bit you."

"I'll make an exception." Persephone was tired, so very tired. She let her body relax, let the blades cut into her feet and she sighed.

"You don't get to rest." Rodolphus stepped away to retrieve something then grasped her chin painfully to keep her mouth open. He poured a potion into it and she swallowed weakly. Persephone was past the point of caring what he gave her. It would not end until she stopped breathing and maybe one of these potions would be her savior. But this potion was Pepper-Up and she was wide awake again the moment it registered in her body. The pain was that much more real and relentless.

"You are going to tell me where in Knockturn they are holding my brother or I am going to make lace out of you. Understood, my queen?"

Persephone tried to just nod, to pretend she would answer his every question, but her other self beat her to the punch.

"Your brother helped torture the Longbottoms. He's getting what he deserves."

Rodolphus smiled that vicious grin, the one that let her know to close her eyes. The knife plunged into her stomach was just another blow, another punch she couldn't dodge, another kick she couldn't block. She kept her eyes closed and she let the other self have her reward.

_This is where resistance gets you_, she thought, _this is where the good go to die_.

* * *

Yaxley was speaking with the king when Severus finally found him. By then, the pain had become bearable again, as though Persephone's life was no longer in as much danger. He did not find comfort in the realization. What could she have endured out there on her own? How much more would she have to face before he could get to her? How long would she have left after that? Would her captor's face be the last one she sees?

Severus ignored the king and his questioning eyes, shoving Yaxley against the nearest wall. The man was rightly frightened and Severus let only his rage through. No one stole from him and lived to tell the tale. No one except Hermione.

"What did you do with her?" He asked, his voice dark and livid. All those feelings he had tried to throw away, all that hope and despair, happiness and sorrow came flooding into his system like a tsunami of emotion. Above them all was hatred.

"Who?"

"Don't play dumb, you spineless imbecile! What have you done with Persephone?"

"Miss Damasca?" The king asked softly, advancing towards them.

"I didn't do anything." Yaxley's bloodhound face became hard and stubborn.

"No, you just watched." Severus sneered into the man's face, gripping his throat tighter.

"Enough, Severus."

It took every ounce of his being, more than he was willing to give, but he let go of Yaxley. The ministry man fell to the floor, his hand pressing gingerly on his neck where red marks were beginning to show. The king stepped forward with a whisper of fabric and placed a long fingered hand on Severus shoulder.

"Care to enlighten me as to why you returned from France and attacked Yaxley unprovoked?"

"Minister Boudin is making his decision. We spoke and came to a beneficial agreement. I did not return for that, though it was next on my list. There was an altercation at Gabian's Cafe in Diagon Alley at noon. This fool and the Lestranges were responsible. Persephone was their victim." Severus stared into the king's eyes bravely and let the man see what true fury looked like. There was a viciousness in Severus that had been absent since Lily's death and it was calling for the head of every Death Eater he could catch. He would end them all if he had to, if it meant he had Hermione back with him.

The king did not break eye contact when he spoke. "Is this true, Yaxley? And do not lie."

Yaxley looked about ready to Apparate if he could, his eyes wide and fearful. He collected himself well enough, though, and stood to face their sovereign.

"Rodolphus said her blood did not match Oberan's. He wanted to find his brother, he..." Yaxley gulped, worrying his lip. "He told me he was going to tell you soon after."

"After?" The king asked calmly, tilting his head.

"After he was done with her."

"After she was dead or after she broke?"

"Whichever came first."

Even the king's hand couldn't stop Severus' forward momentum. He rushed over to Yaxley and grabbed him by the throat again, this time with both hands. There was a voice telling him something but he didn't hear it clearly. There was red in his vision and he felt like he needed to make Yaxley pay for standing by while Hermione was taken. He had to make him realize his fatal mistake.

A spell hit Severus in the back and he fell backwards, landing on the ground. Whatever had hit him was gone in a second.

"I think we should save our punishments for the true perpetrator. Let us go to Lestrange."

* * *

It would be so easy to simply close her eyes and never open them again. She wanted to. Persephone stopped even trying to fight, letting her other self have free reign over them. She was sick of the pain, of the smell of her own blood, of the trickle she felt running hot down her legs. It pooled below her and she turned her face away for the millionth time.

She had tried to hold it in, but her body was more focused on handling the pain and less on how she would appear to another. She wasn't even human anymore. Less than the most incompetent animal, like a baby without control. It didn't offend her as much as depress her and she recalled something Severus said once.

_"He would have locked you in the least used dungeon, calling you special and the princess of his home. He would apologize for the plain walls and beg profusely for forgiveness, then he would coax the paint out of you. Red, brown, yellow, any color the body can expel. He would wring you with all his might for days."_

_It's tru_e, she realized. Severus was completely right. She hadn't really believed him then, cause she'd been too stubborn to believe the dark could break her. _What an idiot!_

Rodolphus had left again, saying he would miss her, and Bellatrix had come sauntering in soon after, a wide smile on her painted lips.

"Husband says I get to try you out. Let's have some fun."

"Go to hell, you barren bitch." Persephone let herself laugh at the look on the witch's face. It would be worth all the pain to come.

"I hope you won't mind joining me?"

As Bellatrix raised her wand, pointing it at Persephone's womb, a loud bang came from the left of them. Bellatrix hovered, torn, before hurriedly placing a small metal device on Persephone's tongue and securing its straps behind her head. The witch then rushed away to investigate, leaving Persephone to hope the entire manor would collapse around them and bury them all.

"My lord!" She heard a few voices chorus, and she wondered why they sounded so happy. Screams followed and the echoes of curses hissing through the air. A few must have hit the wall because there were booms every few seconds. Footsteps came her direction and she opened her mouth, but remembered her current punishment as soon as the spikes met her tongue.

The footsteps were then accompanied by shouts of her name. In Severus' voice. She twitched, flailed, reached out for him, but only pain met her movements. She could not speak or else the device in her mouth would flay her tongue. She rocked helplessly from the hooks in her shoulders, staring desperately at the door Severus was behind.

"Let me." The king said and she felt the necklace burn against her skin. It did not tighten, but it was like red hot coals. She twisted and lifted her foot, kicking at Rodolphus' table of knives. A few clattered to the metal floor and she let out a moan of pain. The world became a small point of light miles ahead of her and she was slowly getting nearer to it.

She didn't know long she hung there dizzy and weak, but soon she felt a whoosh of warm air and a door slammed into a wall. The scent of sandalwood and ink met her nose and, though she would have happily traded it for clean oxygen at this moment, it made her even more nauseous. Hands gripped her abused arms and there was an exclamation of horror.

"Persephone. Persephone, can you hear me?" Severus had hands on her arms, he was checking for a pulse.

"Step aside, Severus." The king was nearer to her and she heard the faint groan as Severus hit the ground. "How bad is the damage to your leg?" The question was pointed to Severus.

"I shall live, my king, if with a limp."

"Not something new to you, is it?"

Persephone lifted a hand, as cold and bloodless as it felt, and reached through the darkness to touch the king. He held her hand and leaned in close.

"I'm going to free you from consciousness. You'll be able to bear this next part in slumber." His voice was low and secretive. Persephone began to speak, cried out and the device in her mouth fell away taking new blood with it. "Don't speak."

Persephone felt a wand against her head and then the world went mercifully black.

* * *

Leaning against a thick wood table with his left leg throbbing and his robes in tatters from the invasion of the Lestrange home, Severus stared at the naked, bloody, bruised body of Persephone...his Hermione. He felt nothing but nausea at the state of her, at what his slow rescue had allowed to happen. He caused nothing but pain to those around him; pain and death.

The king had knocked her unconscious and Severus helped as best he could to extract the hooks and heal the wounds, which ranged from minor cuts to stab wounds and curse marks. It would take a healer to fix her completely and even then her heart and her mind would suffer from this. He knew torture and he knew how to endure it. It had been part of his job since he decided to be a spy. Hermione wasn't a spy, she was a thief and there was a big difference between the two. Severus let his hand linger on the side of her face that wasn't bruised and he blinked past the sudden haze in his eyes.

"Severus, I will take her to my manor." The king was taking her away, lifting her up into his arms and she settled there easily. She was wrapped in Severus's cloak. He watched the king walk out of the room with an odd realization.

When he had been in Potter's head during their Occlumency lessons, he had seen a brief glimpse of The Dark Lord in a spare robe, huddled in Wormtail's arms and cradled with some bizarre reverence. As he looked at the king, cradling Hermione, he felt amazed that the king could show reverence to anything but himself. There was a gentle, slow sway to the king's long stride as though he did not wish to cause anymore harm.

Severus leaned against the table until the king vanished around the corner and then he followed. The wreckage of their hasty entry had left the foyer impassable, but it was not an exit Severus was looking for. Instead, he made his way further into the manor, looking for a potions lab or a store closet. Somewhere in this house was the blood proof of Persephone's falseness. In that small vial would be all the evidence Voldemort would need to put her right back from where she had just been rescued.

The potions lab was on the lower floor towards the southeast side of the manor and Severus ransacked the place mercilessly, but came up empty. He climbed the stairs and checked the bedrooms, the siting rooms and eventually found a study. Across from the desk were three words burned into the wall, 'Knockturn', 'cell' and 'bookstore'. Beneath them was a box of red velvet and within that box was a vial of black liquid. Severus picked it up, held it in the palm of his hand for a moment, then threw it at the words on the wall. The black stained the wall and dripped cold and thick to the floor. Without a second thought, Severus lit the lot on fire.

* * *

**A/N**: That was a pain to write! (No pun intended) I think I got everything. Took me a while to decide if I should add so much or if I should just wimp out about it, but in the end I needed this to happen. Some people get weaker in horrible situations and others get strong. Also, I just can't imagine Hermione sitting back while horrible people did horrible things, so I am speeding along her return just out of her sheer unwillingness to take no for an answer. Persephone is becoming almost a split personality, but she won't stay forever. Hope I didn't scare you away! Please review. Tickle2Kill.


	36. Hospital Beds

~*~Hospital Beds~*~

Voldemort had spent far too much time standing over her bed, staring down at her pale form as she shallowly drew breath. The healers had assured him that she would wake on her own time and that there would be no lasting physical ailments from her traumatic attack. Healer Sereda told him Persephone's biggest obstacle would be herself.

Severus had been looked to as well and he was not so fortunate. The magic that had injured his leg had damaged the tissue to such an extent that, though the wound would heal, he would have a permanent limp. His first did not seem perturbed by this news, he simply suggested he would craft a cane. Severus' first questions had been about Persephone.

According to the healers, she had sustained twenty-four stab wounds that had purposefully missed vital organs, eight vicious spells including the one that had broken her thigh bone, sixteen diverse methods of torture including the hooks through her shoulders, bruises both deep and shallow covered her from head to foot, excessive blood loss and a mild form of dehydration from the overuse of Pepper-Up. She had been pumped full of fluid and tonics, had been wrapped and unwrapped, had salves applied and reapplied and had moved to three different beds. Finally, she had been placed in a comfortable one reserved for those requiring long term treatment.

He had made sure she was comfortable. He didn't completely understand why.

Rodolphus assured him that he had proof of the mudblood's lie, but all he had produced was a cryptic note and pointed him to a study on the second floor that was burned to a cinder. There was proof of nothing in that room. He had urgently said that Yaxley had a broken wand, the true thief's, in a secure place. Voldemort was disinclined to believe they had anything but conjecture and prejudice, but he was looking into one of his own plans to sniff out the truth. Rodolphus had prostrated before him as had Bellatrix, but there had been no mercy in him so soon after finding Persephone in such an abused state. He had sent them back to Azkaban for a month, to learn their lesson. Yaxley had been lashed thoroughly, but he had not fully participated and had cooperated in the recovery. He was sore and walking on thin ice, which was punishment enough for his crime.

Persephone stirred enough to turn on her side and mumble something unintelligible then was deep in her dreams again. Voldemort stepped away from her for a moment.

Twice now he had been made to feel fear.

The first time had been when she had placed a small hand over his heart and he had felt his life leap into her palm. He could remember that touch even now, the certainty in its judgement of him, and he could remember the fear overwhelming him to this point that he fled. Still, he had conquered that fear by chaining the source. Just as he had made horcruxes to maintain his life, he had contained the further fear of her by putting a leash around her throat. But now he was unsure it would matter.

This new fear was akin to unused adrenaline, filling his muscles, making him tense and alert. He was also worried and concerned, which he was not truly familiar with being. It was far too simple for Rodolphus to kidnap her, to drag her away and to harm her. It could not be allowed to stand. But why would it matter?

No one was worth protecting except for himself. He had inadvertently protected the Potter boy, if only so that he may have the pleasure of ending him once and for all. He and the boy had been intrinsically connected from the moment he chose the Potters over the Longbottoms to put to death that Halloween night. It had been inescapable and central to their hostilities. But those encounters had had a point: he wished to attain immortality and the boy was in his way while the boy wished to live a happy life and he made sure it did not happen. It had made all the sense in the world to keep the boy breathing for a little while longer.

What need was there for Persephone's life? She had no connections to him or to anyone of power. She could hold her own in a duel against him but he had won. She felt too strongly for the weak and the filthy and she gave the bad ones the benefit of the doubt when she should have killed them. Persephone lay supine in a starkly white room with mottled skin and disfiguring swelling on her face because she had been too trusting.

Voldemort turned to her with his hand on his chin. So why was she still breathing? What made this woman, out of all the legion in his kingdom, so damn important? The question hung like a lazy moon in his mind, neither resolving itself nor moving onward. But she didn't glow dimly like the moon. She blazed self-righteous and bright like the sun. This sun will not set, he thought to himself, it will burn evermore. But why? What kept her going when it was all too clear everything that was life itself wished her to cease?

"Your Majesty, I have to change her dressings again." Healer Sereda, an old crone of a woman with a hunched back and rheumy eyes, came slowly into the room. She carried with her a tray of potions and salves.

"Do not let my presence impede your work, healer. Please," he held out a hand regally. "Proceed."

One milky eye stared at him, then she moved to the bed. Persephone was still on her side and the Healer Sereda used the position to replace the bandages over Persephone's hook wounds. Her back was slightly bony and her hips curved up like a hill. Healer Sereda was quick and gentle, glancing at him periodically. She finally decided to speak when she was observing the leg in the cast.

"I saw that look in a man's eyes once. He was set to marry my sister in a couple months and had this dazed expression...as though he couldn't believe his dreams walked into his reality." Healer Sereda began coating the bruises in a light pink salve.

"I have no such look." He crossed his arms and tapped his foot.

"You can't rightly see yourself, can you? Mirrors do no justice to us, so you wouldn't see it in a reflection. Love isn't a thing so easily captured." Healer Sereda smiled softly. "You fancy this one, majesty?"

"You overstep yourself." He said coldly. The crone simply chuckled.

"I'm one hundred and eleven. I don't much care for where my feet find themselves so long as its ground." She pointed a light pink finger at him. "If you could blush, you'd be redder than your eyes. You'll say its anger, but my nephew did the same. Got all too much like a pufferfish when I called him out but could never deny I was right." She cast a bright spell and began applying a lime green oil. "You must see something in her. You haven't left this room since she settled here. Don't you have a country to run, majesty?"

"You are insubordinate and do not seem to care that I could kill you." He pointed out, getting closer to her.

"What's death at one hundred and eleven but a friend you've been waiting for? I don't care when I go, majesty. I've watched hundreds die in my life and I was just fortunate to be too far down the reaper's list for his notice. My sister weren't so lucky."

"You do not fear death?"

"Child," the woman began and he bristled at her tone. "Death is but one door amongst many in life. Some doors lead to promotion, some to ruin, some to power and others lead to hope, to hatred, to love. I've been through so many doors, that constant one seems almost a gift. Now," she cleaned her hands and tucked Persephone in. Healer Sereda stepped towards him with the tray beneath her arm and the empty vials in her pocket. Her gnarled hand laid softly on his cheek. "Don't be a fool of a king who thinks himself above Death. Those ones die the fastest. You've got a bright mind; quick thinking and quick to anger but slow to sense. You love the girl, enough to pace around her unconscious form like your restlessness will wake her, but you can't see past your own nose. So to speak."

He watched her smile and wondered how easy it would be to stop her ancient heart and her babbling mouth. He had been far too lenient these past months and now the world thought him conquerable. Persephone groaned and he blinked. The moment passed and Sereda moved away.

"I've got other patients to attend to. You keep your guard like a good knight." She turned and hobbled out the door, bent and reeking of juniper berries.

He didn't love Persephone. He didn't love anyone. Love was for fools and for suckers, used to weaken the otherwise intelligent beings on earth. Animals had no need for love and they survived better than some humans. Oh, but love...it was not a ghost in a shack on the edge of town. Love had made his enemy, it had favored his enemy and in the end it had ripped life from him as easily as opening a door.

Now, before him sleeping, lay the possibility to harness such power. Love had been abhorrent to him because it was what had claimed his mother and had powered his foes, but it would not outrun him this time. He would leash love to the ground and he would harvest its power. Love would have another chance to make a Chosen One, born in the darkness of his realm, forged in the fire of knowledge and made to fulfill Slytherin's destiny.

_You showed me the fault in my power, Lily. And though it took much struggle and sacrifice to get here from that wasted state your own sacrifice had reduced me to, I am more prepared than I ever was. I thank you for that. When I rise above all of this world and I stand upon the ashes of your son and the Light he died for, I shall not forget your lesson. You will be held in the annals of my legend as the catalyst for my ascension. You were the spark that lit the fire and Persephone..._

He laid a hand on her cheek, the one beneath her longbrown lashes, and a smirk curved its way up his face.

_Persephone is the fire._

* * *

Samantha looked over Rabastan's shallowly breathing body laid out on a hospital cot with a cold hatred. Eoghan had died looking like this. Eoghan had smiled at her right before his heart stopped and his hand fell limp from hers. This monster did not deserve to share the same thought as her beloved husband. She wondered, not for the first time, if she could kill him.

Moody and the rest of the Order had taken to this belief that she was for the dark because she was not for the light. That was as ignorant as saying you must hate the sun because you prefer the light of the moon. The astounding ability of the Order to see the world in black and white was rich seeing as the blood was flowing faster than ever now that they had declared themselves. War was here and it hadn't mattered what she had done. Drugging the chosen one hadn't been enough.

The potions they had given her to help heal Rabastan were non-lethal and nontoxic, and no matter what way she combined them they would not alter their state into a more volatile one. She set them out before her so she could decide what to give him. The Order had put up a smart shield so no one with a Dark Mark could enter the refuge and, since she was the only medical professional this side of the shield, Moody had decided to tap into her expertise.

The cut on Rabastan's head was shallow but the blunt object that must have hit him could have caused damage that wasn't visible without her wand which was firewood by now. Samantha lifted the Death Eater's head, selected a blood replenishing potion and helped him swallow it. Next, she applied some Dittany to his wounds, pulling aside his sewn together leather shirt to reach his chest. Rabastan didn't move but Samantha had spent enough time in the children's ward at Mungos to know when someone was faking sleep. The trick of passing as an unconscious person was to not tense up or to be actively moderating your breathing. Simply just relaxing looked more convincing, but even a grown Death Eater hadn't learned.

"It will be much easier for us both if you just opened your eyes and told me where it hurts." Samantha waited, tilted her head, and was met with calculating brown eyes.

"W-witch." He stuttered and she set the Dittany down.

"Wizard."

"W-where are we?"

"Same place as last, just over a few. Your little breakout prompted a new cell. Welcome to solitary."

"It is not q-quite solitary if you are here." Rabastan attempted to sit up and Samantha noted his winces and hesitation.

"You must have a couple bruised ribs. Take off your shirt." As he complied, she spoke. "I am only here until I've set you back to rights, then they'll put me in my own cell again."

She hated her cell. Pure white with no dust or footprints of anything but pure whiteness. They gave her white robes and white slippers and closed that wall behind them so casually that she knew they would only come to bring her food or if she hurt herself. Samantha was not above self-mutilation for attention.

When she was twelve, she had been very depressed because of the passing of her mother and had turned to her father on many occasions but he had been the type of man to ignore his pain or to disregard it and in turn disregarded her. She had been cooking dinner one night when she sliced her finger open and for a short period of time she had his undivided attention. Pretty soon she was cutting herself walking down the hall and he would come running. But all good things come to an end and eventually he ignored her cutting, too. But by then it had felt good to let the blood flow. She still bore the marks of those dark, endless days.

The Aurors had beat him up proper, but she had healed worse in her career. The Dittany took care of a lot, but she ran out of supplies before she had made him good as new. Samantha wondered why they were keeping a Death Eater alive if they already got the information for him. Had he withstood their Veritaserum interrogations?

"What have you told them?" She whispered, since she was certain they eavesdropped.

"Nothing. Veritaserum is a child's toy. If you ingest enough of it over a length of t-time, you will become immune. They won't get a thing out of me."

"They should have let you die."

"And yet you heal me. C-contradictory, don't you think?" He had propped himself up against the wall and was tugging on the thread between his leather sleeves.

"No. My occupation has always been a healer and I am damn good at my job. My arts are bringing my patients back to their proper form, which could be old or young, man or woman, black or white, gay or straight, muggle or wizard, good or bad. I'm healing you because they put me alone in a room with you and with the ability to do so. Now that your life isn't in danger from wounds I have the right as an uninvested party to say that they should have let you die."

"No w-wonder milord thinks you and your kind are dangerous. You only c-care for my life when I am losing it and you only heal me out of habit. You are part of the light?"

"Formerly, I suppose."

"And you all believe like this? Help when forced to, aid when bored, save when the C-c-cannons are in off-season?"

"It is a little more complicated than that. Humans aren't ants. We don't have a hive mind. We aren't programmed to sacrifice everything for an ideal. That sort of behavior is cultivated in someone through various means." Samantha sat back on her heels. "They aren't bad people. They don't want to control everything and they aren't acting because they have nothing else better to do. This is all we have. Your king took everything else."

"He didn't t-take your humanity."

"Funny, considering the fact that none of your brethren or yourself for that matter have ever given a damn about anyone's humanity. You don't take it so much as crush it between your thumb and forefinger. Don't presume to lecture me on morals."

"I'm morally stable. Are you able to say the same?"

"A mad man calls himself a messiah and asks an angel if it is also good."

"You're a angel?"

"Well, I am a sight better than you. My gravest offense was drugging someone important. What was yours?"

"Massacring an entire orphanage looking for a man who had left five minutes prior. Still as morally stable as before."

"Would that be because you have no morals?" She countered, disgusted by the man before her.

"I don't know." He said and the door behind her opened. "Do you have wings?"

* * *

He was fucked. Not literally, though he was walking like a man who had spent a couple years straight on a broom. There was no Rodolphus to tell him what was going on; he was sitting in a cell in Azkaban for a month and was allowed no visitors. Yaxley hadn't the faintest clue what to do next.

He had known this kidnapping thing was going to blow up in their faces, but he had thought he was choosing the lesser of evils when really he had stuck his hand in the Basilisk's mouth. The king hasn't chocked him in Azkaban so there was a plus side to this catastrophe, but damned if he ever agreed with Rodolphus again.

Well, except on one thing. In his breast pocket, cheap and unassuming as it appeared, was the thief's wand. Rodolphus had taken it from the Slayer's manor and had been keeping it for a certain occasion. For what, Yaxley couldn't be sure, but being tossed on his ear in the darkest prison on earth had accelerated his plans. Now, standing uncertainly on the top of the stairs leading to the king's dungeon, Yaxley was trying to gather up what little trust he still had in Rodolphus' ability to reveal this undercover agent.

_I just wasn't made for breaking rules_, he thought, beginning his trek down to the cells. The king's dungeon was one of the more sophisticated ones, not like Rodolphus' house of horror. This place was made to mentally destroy you and to lay to waste the emotional core of every stable human being. He'd seen little children lose their will to live in this somehow inviting atmosphere and he couldn't get the image from his mind. He bypassed the desperate souls as he let his feet carry him to the cell in the middle of this set. It wasn't outfitted any differently than the others, except the occupant of this cell was far too important to many things the king had going. Yaxley wasn't sure why.

"Mister Ollivander." He greeted the man, gesturing at the space in the middle of the cell as he reached for the handle to the door. The old man complied easily enough. "I've brought you a gift."

"The Dark Lord's gifts often bode ill for those who receive them."

"Well, everyone has the right to change, don't they?"

"Yes, but not always the ability to."

"Let's have a little faith in our Lord." Yaxley held out his hand and let the cheap bag fall at the wandmaker's feet. It gave a sad little clatter. "Tell me whose wand that was."

Ollivander eyed Yaxley for a moment, calm and piercing with his eyes that looked half-blind and stooped over to retrieve the bag. He loosened the strings, reached in and pulled out a broken wand. His wizened face scrunched and he paused before speaking.

"Vine wood, ten and three-quarters long, dragon heartstring core..." The old man's bleary eyes snapped to Yaxley and there was a sadness and a pain reflected there. "What have you done with her?"

"Her? What is her name?"

"Did you kill her?"

"Damn it, tell me her name!"

"You killed her and you didn't even know her name?" Ollivander threw the wand away from his person and it landed behind Yaxley.

"Tell me or I promise you the king himself will pry it from your mind."

Ollivander's anger seemed to dissipate slightly and the eyes before him filled with tears.

"Her name was Hermione Jane Granger."

Yaxley knew that name...oh Merlin. It was hard to mistake that for anyone else seeing as her name had been second, right below Potter's, on the list of underage wizards involved with their Lord's, or more appropriately Lucius', failure almost six years ago. How was she able to infiltrate so deeply without anyone being the wiser? Bellatrix had had it out for that Mudblood since she first laid eyes on her. The king would be...very unhappy.

A smirk curved its way up Yaxley's face. The king would be very unhappy with Severus as well. The door to Ollivander's cell slammed as Yaxley made his way back up the stairs to the front door, the cheap bag once again in his grasp..

* * *

A man named Cesare visited him as often as Ginny did, his nose seeming to lead him. For a moment, Harry didn't know why the man was behaving strangely, until the man had come in looking worse for wear with that glazed look in his tired eyes.

"You're a werewolf." He said from the end of his bed. He'd been stubborn enough to get around the hospital bed they had him on, but he still couldn't walk. He could feel his toes though, so perhaps not all was lost.

"_Si_. How did you...?"

"I know Remus Lupin." He explained and flexed his legs over the edge of the bed. Regardless of the healers warnings, he was increasingly tempted to just toss himself off the bed and see if he could stand.

"Mister Remus has been kind to my pack. He has promised our safety and your own." The werewolf sat down where all his guests did and Harry gave him his full attention. "Am I wrong in assuming you are with Ginny?"

Harry at first didn't know what to say. Was he with Ginny? Did it matter while Voldemort lived and Hermione was a spy and he couldn't walk? Did anything matter right now except for doing what needs to be done to finish this for good? Dumbledore wanted a normal life for him and he had a semblance of one but now was not the time for birthday parties and changing the drapes or fixing the sink. War was upon them all and its outcome would decide the fate of the wizarding world. So was he with Ginny or was Ginny with him? He knew for a certainty that it was not both. Not anymore. He loved Ginny, but he had lain on his bed staring up at the plain ceiling for hours thinking of nothing but spells and walking and running and fighting. Ginny was but a passing thought and she deserved better than that.

"I am not sure."

"It is her?"

"No." Harry knew that. After all, Ginny had stayed by his bed for four years, talking to him and touching him and waiting for him. Now he felt he hadn't deserved such devotion. "It's me."

"I do not mean to be rude, but I am..." Cesare's marred face was frowning and pouting at the same time like a child's. "I find myself attracted to her, but she spends her time with you."

"We were..." How to put this? "Together before I fell. She was waiting for me."

"Will she still be waiting?" Cesare was sharp and to the point. His eyes held Harry's without fear or anxiousness and he knew that regardless of what his answer was, Cesare would respect their relationship or breakup.

"She shouldn't wait. This war is not going to differentiate between people when it takes casualties and I don't want her last thought or my last thought or anyone's last thought to be of regret."

"Harry." Ginny was at the door and he looked away from Cesare to meet her brown eyes. "Do you regret me?"

He shook his head sadly. "I regret dragging you into any of this. I regret that my birth led to my parents' death and gave me a connection to their murderer. I regret that being friends with Ron and Neville and Luna and Hermione has made them all into warriors. I regret that I was never prepared enough or strong enough to be what everyone thought I was. I regret that after everything, I forgot how much you had suffered at Tom's hands. I regret that for four years, you suffered at mine." Harry was crying, but he felt good about being able to just get it all out. "But most of all, I regret that I never loved you like you loved me. I don't want to hurt anyone I care about anymore. So..."

"So you want to break up?" Ginny was standing still and there were no tears but he knew well enough that trembling in her chin and the clenched fists meant she was holding on by a thin thread.

"I want to set you free." Ginny was gone before he could close his mouth and Cesare lowered his head.

"I should not have spoken."

"It needed to be said." Harry wiped his cheeks clear of tears and blinked. "You should be going after her."

Cesare snapped his head up and looked taken aback, but when Harry waved him on he took off in a flash.

Harry waited until he knew he was alone and then he cast himself off the bed. He stood for all of minute before he collapsed.

* * *

A group of masked Death Eaters that were so anonymous even Voldemort did not remember their names stood silent as Wilbur Amalat was allowed out of his cell. He was escorted up the stairs, through the ballroom and out to the grounds, all while blindfolded. He did not so much as flinch when each of the Death Eaters took out their wands and Apparated away with him.

The king's warm and expansive grounds with their fresh green topiary figures melted away into the dingy and cold alleys of Knockturn, where a pusher paused long enough to register the disfigured masks before shoving his cart a little faster. The recent precipitation had melted enough to make a slush that sloppily ran down the drains and splashed noisily into puddles. New snow was beginning to fall.

The group moved at a slow pace through the twisting lanes until they reached a courtyard used most often for the little events that drew in the rich and the poor for demonstrations of Ministry-outlawed magic items. There was a block that was considered a makeshift stool, but once upon a time it had been a headsman's block. If one looked with a discerning eye, they could see the stains of countless wizards' blood.

MacNair had held this place highly in his mind before he had been poisoned by the rebellion. Historically, Knockturn was a slums before the businesses had systematically began cropping up where the Ministry was reluctant to frequent. Bootlegging and worse had began like a small Devil's Snare that grew until it eventually choked the Ministry itself. That old minister decided dead men couldn't sell illegal goods and heads were rolling for months. The inhabitants of Knockturn got the idea and seemed to cease their practices, at least enough to assuage the Minister's bloodlust.

Cailen's Square was just another stage for traveling salesmen now and the group climbing the seven steps to the platform were ready to put on a show. Two of the Death Eaters stayed toward the back, arms behind their backs in a military pose. Two more moved to the corners of the stage, one beside the steps and the other near the edge. The final one grabbed Wilbur Amalat by the throat and kicked his knees out from under him so the man was kneeling before the block. From underneath his cloak, the man acting as executioner revealed the centerpiece. It was miniaturized and gleaming and just as frightening when set back to its proper state as it was in its small form. With a silence that bordered on sanctimonious, the executioner lifted the giant blade and used all of his weight to swing down.

The blade landed in the wood of the headsman's block with a loud thunk and the executioner flew back to the wall behind him. His brethren took up arms and tried to fight the offensive force, but to their eyes there was nothing but dank, filthy streets. Yet more curses came and slowly the small group of Death Eaters were destroyed.

A tall man, with purple robes and a kufi, came swiftly out of the nothing between two buildings and untied the ropes around Wilbur's wrists, then vanished the blindfold. Wilbur squinted up into the man's eyes with gratitude.

"They were going to..." His voice clogged up his throat and he covered his face. Tears poured out from beneath his fingers and Kingsley laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Come with us and we'll get you to the infirmary."

Wilbur found his feet somehow, mostly with the aid of the tall man, and was led numbly down the alleys of Knockturn to a faded red door with a broken brass knob.

* * *

A/N: Took me longer than expected, but damned if I didn't realize all the crap I've set up for myself in the chapters to come. You're not gonna like it, or you might. I'm not gonna like it and then I'll post and somehow I'll find myself changing this story to complete. I'm crazy excited for the climax of this story. Hope you all are, too! The buildup is killing me! Tickle2Kill.


	37. Ghosts and Their Creators

~*~Ghosts and Their Creators~*~

"I did wonder when you would come remove that drape." Albus Dumbledore had a smile on his face and a glint of mischief in his blue eyes. It was such an odd and familiar thing that it made Severus pause. It was like staring into a window of the past.

"I had no need to."

"Until now?"

Severus swallowed back the urge to bark at the man, instead he placed one hand behind his back and walked away with the aid of his cane.

"As soon as I have my answers, I will put the drape back."

"Ah, well, I suppose I can still wander about the thousands of portraits in the school and the ministry. Not a dull moment!"

"Stop." It came out broken and Severus clenched his fist, desperate to reclaim his composure. He was sure he would be able to do this without letting the emotion split him apart. The pain around his heart was proving him very wrong.

"My boy," Albus began, but he, too, could not speak for a moment.

"This was your design...the hunt for the horcruxes and the destruction of them. You never told me how to destroy them and the books on them are vague about definite ways. I do not wish for an attempt to signal the Dark Lord to our plans."

"How is Harry?" Albus asked and Severus breathed deeply as he sat down behind his desk.

"Awake."

"Did he...is he alright?"

"I have not seen him. As always I am beyond what shelter the Order's power provides. That was your design, also." Severus ran a hand over his weary face. "Tell me what to do."

"My boy, I cannot always be there to guide you."

"Not entirely true, now is it?" Severus sneered. "What else has a portrait got to do?"

Albus laced his fingers in front of his chest and sat there staring at him. The gaze quickly became uncomfortable.

"Don't even attempt to scold me, you great old bastard! The very circumstances that have led us to this present conversation are results of your meddling in everyone's affairs. It's your own fault you're paint and not flesh and blood."

Albus nodded, his cheer dampened somewhat. "Yes, it is my fault. I was foolish to put that ring on in the hopes I would see my long dead sister. I was foolish for letting my guard down for one small second. I was foolish because I let myself care. But, my dear boy, that is what makes me human in the whole of things. I make mistakes, I have regrets, I dwell when I should live." His sharp blue eyes stared pointedly at Severus. "Sound familiar?"

Severus narrowed his eyes at the painting and looked away. Of course, he never had the need for making eye contact for Albus to counsel him.

"Your state with the Order is not entirely my design. I recall you asked me once to tell no one of your hand in the matters surrounding Harry. I recall you had me swear just shy of an oath to keep that part of you-that beautiful, unselfish, rather Gryffindor side of you-a secret. You kept your guard up, let no one in, and have been rude and stubborn about the whole thing for so long that everyone simply moved away to spare themselves the hassle. No one forced you to be so distant."

"Camaraderie never benefited me while I was kneeling before the Dark Lord and reporting back to you. I did not need to further my own torment."

"You think everyone hates you when you have a small army ready to embrace you. I've watched you coil into yourself like a snail while whoever happened to reach out was met with a cold, sneering shell. Lily was not the only woman willing to love you."

Severus felt the words like a knife in his chest. He didn't confront his loneliness simply because when he realized the scope of his isolation, it gave fuel to his despair and he sunk further into the deep. Albus was gazing at him with that scalpel-like glow in his eyes and Severus laid his head on his crossed arms on his desk.

"Don't speak of her like she was nothing." His voice was muffled, but Albus heard anyway.

"No. She was everything, that's why it hurts so much. But she was gone long before Tom killed her and James. You knew that."

"I didn't...I couldn't accept..." He shut himself up before his voice decided to break.

"You know what I did with the stone. I can give you the incantation to open its case. Perhaps, I will request you speak to Lily before I give you information regarding how to destroy horcruxes. Perhaps, you don't argue with me about not needing closure. And perhaps, you admit you need this." Albus was sitting forward when he lifted his head from his arms.

"I don't want to face her. I don't want her to...I don't want myself to..."

"The only way to get through grief is to go through it. For far too long you've bottled up whatever you felt for fear of one thing or another. Talk to her, Severus." He closed his eyes at the sound of his name from the old man's mouth and the ache it brought around his heart. Albus spoke the incantation and he memorized it.

He left the portrait and went up the stairs to his quarters. After Scrimgeour's death, the will of Albus Dumbledore was left unread for half a year, until Severus got wind of it and salvaged what he could from the fires of the ministry. Sitting in his bedside drawer, covered up with a soft linen cloth, were three items. Severus slowly took them out and laid them on his bed.

First, a book of children's stories which he sat aside with a glance. Second, a small lighter he knew Albus had used on many occasions. And third, a golden Snitch with its wings curled around its body. Severus put the other two things back and lifted the Snitch. It came to life in his hand and he let it flap its wings gently for a moment before setting his wand against its surface and casting the incantation.

Almost immediately, the thing fell open in his palm. A small black stone, shaped like a prism, with a golden symbol etched in the center was waiting within. He knew that shape.

Severus set aside the stone in favor of the book, flipping through the pages haphazardly. The one he sought was easily found. Above the chapter title was the same symbol and the story beneath was a familiar one. The Deathly Hallows. Severus closed the book. Why would Dumbledore want to give Hermione a book with a symbol so clearly pointing to that one story? Why where the Hallows so important? The drive to use one of them had cursed Albus and the wand was either the greatest weapon to exist or the worst item to have ever been created. The cloak was lost if Potter did not still possess it.

He had listened to Albus' tale of the obession he and Gellert Grindelwald had had over the objects and he knew what draw they could have. Severus had reprimanded Albus for the foolish decision to use the ring regardless of any apparent danger. But there was something alluring about being able to talk through the veil and across whatever space separated the living from the dead. His hand found the Resurrection stone and he braced himself for this horrible, terrible, decision. With his eyes closed tight, Severus turned the stone three times in his palm.

At first, he wasn't sure it had worked. There was silence unbroken by anything but his breathing, but soon he could hear that breathing change, as though another was attempting to match his pattern but was just a beat behind. A huff of air danced across his face.

"_You've gotten old._" His heart skipped quite a few beats and he hung his head as the pain came back twentyfold. Her voice didn't sound any different than the last time he had heard it, but there was a warm humor in it. "_When's the last time you cut your hair?_"

A semi-solid hand ran through his hair and along his scalp. He shuddered, leaning into it. The stone was biting into his palm but he just gripped it tighter. He was afraid to open his eyes.

"_Stop frowning, it'll give you wrinkles on your forehead._" She poked him gently and he looked up out of shock.

Lily, still twenty and beautiful, with long red hair and brilliant green eyes, sat across from him with a sweet smirk. She was perched on the end of the bed, head tilted sideways to get a good look at him.

"_Twenty years and you don't even say hello. I'm offended._"

"Hello." He whispered and her smile faltered a little.

"_Sev, don't do that._" She scooted closer, laying her not-quite-solid-not-quite smoke-like hand on his shoulder. "_Let's not go down that road, alright? Just, uh, let's just talk._"

He nodded, meeting her eyes as she licked her lips and began to smile again.

"_Hogwarts is still standing, I take it?_"

"It will take more than a dark wizard to raze this place to the ground." He said, shifting so that he faced her.

"_And you're headmaster now._" She gestured to the rooms and he gave an empty smile.

"Not that I ever wanted to be. You know I always wanted..."

"_Potions or Defense. You're adept at both. If they'd have let you, you'd probably try to do both!_" A person's laughter shouldn't be so harmful to the soul, but Lily's was blundering through him without remorse. He pulled away even as his entire being begged him to draw near.

"I must..." What must be do? What was more important than the woman across from him, smiling encouragingly? "I must destroy these horcruxes. I must finish this very long tale."

"_That's where my powers would end, Sev. I don't know anything about them._" Lily scratched her head, but it was obvious she didn't really need to. She didn't have a body or skin to have itch. He could see the mantel and the fire beneath it through her chest. She was little more than a ghost.

"Are you happy?" He asked suddenly and he met her eyes to divine the answer if she decided not to speak. Lily curled her bottom lip inward and her teeth made light indentions on her see-through skin.

"_More than I ever was alive._" She closed her eyes and a silvery tear escaped, falling but not connecting to the physical furniture. She cleared her throat. "_It's peaceful and beautiful and fulfilling over there. Like waking up to a dream and never coming down._"

There was happiness in her tone and he sighed. "You never loved me."

Lily's hands went through his face in their haste to make him look at her and he shivered from the cold emptiness of her mostly smoke appearance. She made sure their eyes were locked before answering.

"_That is a lie. I always loved you. I didn't always show it and sometimes I showed the exact opposite, but I was sixteen!_" She seems frustrated. "_I had judgmental friends, perfectionist professors and expectations I believed I had to live up to. I listened to people's opinions and I let them make up my mind. I was a kid and I was an idiot, but I never stopped loving you, Sev. Never._"

"You married James."

_"I loved James, too. Hearts aren't monopolies, Severus. Love isn't bound to one thing or another, it isn't bound by our laws. Voldemort found that out._" Severus didn't flinch because he knew somewhere in his mind that the dead weren't slaves to the Taboo.

"But you chose James." He said, blinking slowly and letting his clenched fist relax. "You chose him over me, Gryffindor over Slytherin, them over us."

"_You think that's how the world works?_" She whispered so fiercely, he knew she was about to explode with indignation. "_If the world was black and white there wouldn't be people like me or people like you. I would be for the light and hate everything about you while you would be for the dark and hate everything about me._"

"I could never hate you."

"_You had to have been angry when I married James._"

"I hated him, not you."

"_But I'm the one who never let you apologize for calling me-_"

"Don't say it!" He lamented and she stopped. "I didn't deserve your forgiveness."

"_Oh! You great, depressive, genius, idiot!_" She said it so vehemently his brows drew together. "_It's not like you killed me!_"

For one long moment, he was struck absolutely breathless. He knew that she hadn't meant it as a jab at him, but his mind could only connect the dots.

"But I did." Severus forced himself to stand. "I listened at a keyhole. I relayed a message. I asked Dumbledore for aid which led to Pettigrew betraying you. I stood among the wreckage of my life and it was my own hand that caused it."

Lily was shaking her head and she was crying, but Severus couldn't comfort her, couldn't find the words to make up for everything he had done.

"And I tried so hard to convince myself he was to blame. I swore my soul away so I wouldn't have to confront the truth. I killed you, Lily. I killed you and James." It was hard to bring that man's name to his lips without hatred, but he couldn't lie anymore. "I took you away from your son and I hated him for it. I hated the fact that he was so much of James and so much of you and he reminded me of every mistake I had ever made."

"_Harry needs you, Sev. He needs you more than I ever did._" She stood and came up beside him. _"I don't care what happened between us. I don't care how many times I'm called Mudblood._" He flinched. "_My son doesn't have a mother or a father anymore, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have family. You're his family, Sev. You always were._"

"I don't love the boy." He told her flatly and she chuckled.

"_But you care, which counts for something. You let me down,_" he swallowed at the seriousness in her voice. "_But you can't let him down. You can't. If you want my forgiveness, all you have to do is help my son. I love you, Sev._" She whispered, pressing her ghostly lips against his cheek.

He hesitated, felt it clog up his throat and then he spoke. "That's what I was going to say to you all those years ago."

"_What?_"

"When you asked why you were different, why it mattered that I had said that word to you. I was going to say because I love you." He stared at her, black eyes and green locked for what seemed like an eternity. "I loved you then and I love you now. I will always love you."

Lily's smile was wet with tears and her chin was quivering. "_I'm sorry I never let you say it. But, then again, I'm not._"

Severus frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.

"_We were never meant to be, Severus. You know that as well as I. You've even admitted it to yourself, haven't you?_" She stepped back. "_I'm glad you didn't say it back then. You should be happy, Sev. But you'll never be happy with me._"

"Why not? I have this stone." He held it up so she could see it.

_"I'm dead, Sev. I've been dead for twenty years. You've got to let me go._"

"How?"

"_Like this._" She placed her hand beside his and as she opened her palm to view, he did the same. The Resurrection stone tumbled to the floor and Lily's bright smile vanished with the rest of her.

* * *

The first thing she saw when she came to was the clean, asymmetrical designs on the ceiling of an even cleaner room. Her arms were tied down to her sides and she reeked of what smelled suspiciously of iodine. There was a soft, quiet hum of magic filling the room, and every once in a while a wash of warmth ran over her skin. Persephone shifted uncomfortably and used every bit of ingenuity she had to slip free from the braces over her arms.

It wasn't really pain that she felt as she moved, more like the discomfort of wearing too tight clothing. She realized quickly it was because she was wrapped from shoulder to elbow, neck to waist in thick gauze soaked in what seemed to be an herbal concoction. She couldn't identify the ingredients, but she didn't need to. It wasn't harmful.

The bedside table held a clock and a plate of food. She couldn't smell it and if she turned her head a little the air around it shimmered. Probably under stasis. Her bed was simple and to the point, like any other hospital bed she had seen. There were no windows and only one door, with the only sound being the hum of magic and her own breathing. A chair was set up in the corner with a cloth neatly folded atop it. Not a single thing looked remotely familiar.

Instinct kicked in the moment she didn't recognize her surroundings. With a very cautious set of movements, she slid to the floor and crawled as quickly as her wobbly legs could carry her over to the chair in the corner. On the chair was a soft, silk-like pair of trousers. They reminded her of a set of green robes with silver and gold accents. She slipped it on over her bare flesh. She didn't see her wand, but a vague thought reminded her it had been snapped in half, and the gold necklace was heavy over her bandages, so she nicked a knife from the food set out and made her way to the door.

Was she still in danger? She couldn't tell. Now that she was no longer in the bed, the wash of magic didn't heat up her skin and the chill of the room seeped stealthily into her bare feet. She could hear her heartbeat in the silence and it ratcheted up her already tense paranoia. Was this all a play at mental manipulation? Had she really been saved or was Rodolphus employing another type of torture? She really couldn't be sure.

She wished she could Disillusion herself before attempting to make her way out of the room, but she wasn't sure she could cast that wandless. Persephone cast a muffling charm with little effort, though. Slowly and far too conscious of her own body, she began to open the door. It was well taken care of and the hinges didn't give her away. The hall outside her room was rather homey for a medical facility.

She took in the wood panels and the rug and caught a movement in the corner of her eye that had her darting back into the room. She held her breath, her heart like thunder, as a man walked by with a bored expression on his face and his wand out. Once he was past the door and she had verified his obliviousness to her current position, she stepped out behind him. With a practiced air, she hit him hard with the butt of the knife right under his ear and behind his jaw and nicked his wand as he collapsed with a cry.

First, she Disillusioned herself, gritting her teeth through the chilly cascade. With her new invisibility, Persephone took the man's outer coat and levitated him into the room. He was unconscious and the bed seemed to register everything as normal. Persephone put on the man's coat, tying it tight at the waist, transfigured his shoes to fit her feet and left the room. She had tucked the wand into a pocket of the coat. The hall extended both directions, curving off to her left and going straight on to her right. She let her instincts guide her left and hurried to the corner.

She leaned against the wall, hesitated for a moment, then spun with her new wand pointed outward. It felt wrong in her hands, like an eel that would wriggle at any moment, but she was too desperate to be choosy. Thankfully, she didn't have to see if the wand would do more than disillusion and levitate. No one was there.

Persephone moved, staying close to the walls as she followed the curve of the floor to a set of stairs. At the base were twelve cloaked men and women, one giving orders. He looked up as she approached and narrowed his eyes. A shot of fear went through her body and Persephone dodged back, frantically searching the hall for any kind of cover. She found a dark alcove just as the twelve emerged from the small staircase.

"Fauna, go west. Bolton, Clark, Martis, go with her. The rest of you come with me." They split up and she held her breath as they rushed past her. She waited a beat, listening to their retreating steps, then ran down the stairs. Persephone nearly tripped when a roar sounded from down the hall and she heard a shout that she knew meant they had found her patrolling guard.

There was no doubt now that she was missing. Adrenaline flooded her system and she disregarded any kind of stealth, opting instead to find her exit and make use of it. She wasn't sure where she was. It looked like the king's manor, but how many variations could you make in one type of opulence?

Persephone closed her eyes and let that other self come forward. Almost immediately, she was shoved to the back of their mind and the other one began to eliminate every possible avenue until she had a set course. They set off at a sprint for the ballroom. She hoped by the angle of the light through the windows that this was the right way.

A giggle made its way to her ears from her left and it sounded like a small child's. The king's manor, then. Or at least she hoped so. Being invisible granted her some freedom and she moved without care, rushing across the polished wood floors as fast as she could.

_Voldemort's own lair!_, she shouted to herself, looking about in fear, _Where is Severus?_

He was nowhere as far as she was concerned, but she needed him now more than ever. A spy would know how best to flee the web of lies she had found herself in. Was Rodolphus working off of the king's orders when he snatched her off the street? She could vaguely remember the king's face as he pushed Severus out of the way. Had the king saved her?

Persephone's steps slowed even as her other self lost her grip on the controls. They halted in the hallway where the guests had come for the Yule Ball. Had the king saved her just as she had saved him?

"Consider the debt repaid." The cold, high-pitched voice came from her right. It was eerily reminiscent of their duel.

A coolness hit her that had nothing to do with her suddenly absent Disillusionment. She kept her mouth shut, unsure what would fly out. The king stepped out from the shadows slowly.

"But you cannot survive on your own, I see that now." He raised an imperious hand. "This will be your new home."

"I won't stay here with you." She said firmly, drawing her shoulders back in a show of regality and determination.

"You do not have a choice. I have sent Severus to Germany. You will need protection until he returns."

Persephone gaped at the king, trying to understand. "Why are you so interested in me?"

"You don't know how to die, despite the many occasions when death is inescapable. You accomplish my goal without trying and I cannot understand how. You will remain within my reach for as long as it takes to harness your talent for defying the very thing which threatens my rule. When I have isolated the only special thing about you, I will rip it out of your body and leave you to Severus." He tilted his head. "Let me show you to your room."

Voldemort turned, showing his back to her, and Persephone felt the sudden and vicious urge to curse him within an inch of his life. She raised her wand, trying not to think about anything but Harry's lifeless body, Percy's bloodless one, the scars on Bill's face, the scars on Ginny's soul, the look Molly got in her eyes when she made dinner...all those little ripples in the pond. Hatred and anger built up in her like a maelstrom and she opened her mouth.

"If you cast that wand aside this instant, I will have a new one made for you." The king hadn't stopped walking and he also hadn't raised his voice, but she felt the bribe tug on her until she let the stolen wand point to the floor.

"Promise?" Persephone asked and her other self bristled at the hope in her voice. She would not be hopeful when it came to this despotic snake!

"Cross my heart and hope to die." The king said, granting her a sly smirk with his lipless mouth. The wand clattered loudly on the wood floor.

* * *

The refuge, as the wizards escorting Wilbur had called it, was a sprawling, rambling village. The people moved about without once looking at him, like ants without any goal save the health of the colony. He was led in silence to the second biggest building at the end of the main road and traded off to a smiling Mediwitch. An Auror with their wand in plain sight escorted them to a room.

He was about ten minutes away from crumbling under the scrutiny. He had been a thief since his mother kicked him out for a month as punishment for running off her newest conquest. He knew the ups and the downs of street life, knew where to get the best haul and where best to fence said haul. He knew the hours of every business and every employee in Knockturn, even down to the drifters that came through at near annual intervals. He had stolen cursed items from Borgin and Burkes without more than a flinch at the loud alarm ward he accidentally set off. He was too used to the danger to be afraid. But if there was one thing that truly frightened him, it was the fuzz.

A cute Mediwitch in training came up to him with a tray of potions, but from the distinct ribbons on the top of each one, they were for other patients.

"Hello, sir!" The girl was lively but spoke softly as though she knew he was a jumpy sort. "Fate threw you a safety net." There was a deep-seated melancholy in her tone before she met his eyes again and smiled. "I'm going to examine you completely and as quick as I can. Auror Moody is going to want to speak with you about your capture. It will benefit you not to lie about anything. We are here to help."

"How often have you practiced that in a mirror?" He didn't mean to sound sarcastic, but stress brought out the git in him like nothing else. He hadn't seen Goldie and the king had never promised she was alive. He said he had her. Had what? Her body? What was he willing to kill to get back?

"I don't need to practice the truth to recite it, sir." The girl jabbed her wand into his side and his breath hitched for all of a moment, but she merely flicked her wand at the wall opposite and a muggle-influenced view of his body appeared.

The girl poked him in different areas until she nodded at the bunched up organ on her screen. "All good. They must have had good reason to keep you so healthy. Most times, even with advance warning, the state of the victims at the time of rescue is so critical they don't make it to us. I suppose I don't have to tell you about the ones before we cottoned on? Let's just say you're a head of them all." She gave him a rueful smile even as her joke registered and she spun away, taking her tray with her.

"Is he cleared?" The Auror that escorted him asked her as she passed and the girl patted the wizard gently.

"Tell Moody he is in relatively normal condition. Proceed with caution." He would have barely heard it, but he had been eavesdropping. The Auror nodded and the girl was gone.

"Am I considered a threat?" He inquired and the Auror led him back out of the room.

"That depends, sir."

"On what?"

"If you prove to be threatening."

"So if I jumped you right now, I'd be a threat?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"If you show any signs of becoming violent, I have orders to relieve you of consciousness in whatever way I see fit. If you attempted to surprise me, I would have to remind you that I trained under Alastor Moody. As a man of the streets, I am positive you understand what that means." The Auror continued walking as though he hadn't just told Wilbur to his face that he was screwed six ways to Sunday.

It sat about as gracefully as a mountain in his throat. Wilbur followed behind like a dog with its tail between its legs and didn't ask anymore questions.

The walk seemed to take an awfully long time and his feet weren't too happy about the situation. He was taken past wand shop and smiling residents, up the long main street to a two story building. The letters OAH were emblazoned on the door and he was guided through a plain hallway to a small room.

There was a girl with blonde hair at the big table and she was fighting a stubborn man to clear the stack of parchment scattered over its surface. In her hand, balanced delicately, was a steaming plate of food. Two house elves stood to the side curiously.

"I don't want to hear it, you ninny! You haven't eaten in twelve hours. How're you supposed to fight the king if you're too busy listening to the grumble of your belly?" She managed to clear a spot on the table and with an elbow to the man's ribs, set the plate gently on it. A fork and a knife came out of nothing as did a goblet of what smelled like pumpkin juice. A napkin fluttered to his lap.

"Miss Brown, I don't need to be babied."

"I wouldn't be here if you didn't. Now eat your food, Moody, and I'll make you some of my carrot cake." She seemed to be dangling the cake like a reward for service and he watched in rapt fascination as Head Auror Moody, the scourge of the criminal world, began to grudgingly eat his vegetable and meat filled plate.

"Hello, sir!" Miss Brown called out, waving him over. The Auror with him muttered something into Moody's ear and, at the man's nod, wandered off. "Come sit and I'll get you some food."

Wilbur made to decline, but a steaming plate was at his fingertips before he so much as sucked in a breath. Moody looked far too smug about it all.

"So," the Auror began, swallowing a bit of roast beef. "Wilbur, how did you manage to get caught up in the king's maw?"

Wilbur guessed humor wasn't going to cut it, so he just picked up his fork. The broccoli was just the right amount of squishy. It crunched marvelously in his mouth.

"Tried to kill the king, failed." He scooped up some roast beef and carrot. "Sat in his dungeon while he went about his business and then just today, he decided I was going to be an example. Next thing I know, your people come and save my bacon." He crunched another little tree and met the Auror's eyes.

His lies had to hold enough water to drown in or he and Goldie were dead. If she wasn't dead already. Moody's belief in his story needed to be absolute. He glanced at Miss Brown and she was listening intently.

"You attempted assassination, despite the many before you who have tried and failed?" Moody was examining him and his choices, like that counselor back in his elementary years, before anyone knew about his magic. Wilbur sighed.

"He took my wife. Supposedly she stole from him and he was going to punish her. The Slayer brought her in. I tried to get her back." He hated that he had failed so utterly when it came to a glorious rescue. Too many fairy tales about knights and shining armor.

"Why did your attempt fail?" Moody questioned and Miss Brown narrowed her eyes.

"Some girl knocked the king out of my way."

"Some girl?" Miss Brown asked softly.

"She was with the Slayer." Wilbur watched Miss Brown's face as she struggled to hold back a question. Moody narrowed his eyes at her and smacked the table lightly with his palm.

"Miss Brown, go and get a room for Mister Amalat." Moody kept his silence until the woman was gone, then he leaned forward. "Tell me everything you know."

* * *

**A/N:** Finally got this done! Had a bout of writer's block and then I had a crisis of what to do first, but I strong-armed myself into writing this. I don't like the first part, but I'm going to let it sit because I want to get this story done, despite my indecision. Hope you're still hanging with me and thank you to all those that have reviewed, alerted and favorited since my little hiatus. Keep on keeping on, you beautiful people! Tickle2Kill.


	38. Captivity

~*~Captivity~*~

The king had left her alone in a fairly opulent room, with a large four poster bed and huge circular rugs with actual gold thread in the runic designs. The chandelier that hung from hooks along the dome ceiling was lit bright enough to cast a warm glow over the whole room and the tall bookcases set against the far wall. Across from the door was a bay window and from the seat she could see the lake in the distance, the very same one that could be seen from the ballroom balconies. The desk a few feet to the right of that window sat beneath yet another, stocked with ink and parchment. A letter sat atop the neat desk, wrapped in a length of red cloth.

Persephone had already promised not to cause trouble so long as he made good on the promise of a wand and also let her see the children. The king had smirked at her yet again and cryptically told her she would have all the time she wished with them. It was nearly lunchtime and the sun was beaming down through the small skylight at the center of the dome, casting strange shapes through the chandelier.

She hadn't done much since he put her in this room and he wouldn't tell her what happened after he rescued her or what had happened to Severus before he sent him away. She wondered if she could use her wand to find out when he gave it to her. _If _he gave it to her. The desk was far enough out of the sun that she felt drawn to it and she sat in the chair softly.

_Why is he keeping me? Where is Severus really? Why can't I talk to him?_

_Does he know?,_ her other self asked and she felt a burst of fear and uncertainty in her stomach. _Does he know who I am?_

She went to rest her head against the desk and met the letter instead. Sighing, she opened it up.

_I live_, she read quietly to herself. The fear climbed a few notches and she rolled the paper out flat. She knew the words and the handwriting, she knew the feel of the paper and she most definitely knew the face on the wanted poster behind the letter.

_That's me,_ her other self gasped and Persephone pushed away from the desk, stumbling to her feet and putting distance between her and the proof of her other self's existence.

_Hermione Granger, the poster says_. _He knows! He knows!_

_Calm down!_, Hermione ordered firmly and Persephone sat still. _Just because he has this letter and that poster doesn't mean he knows for sure. We have to pretend we're confused by it. We have to play for time until we can contact Severus._

_Severus is in Germany. He can't help us_.

_Severus will come. We just need_ _to get a letter to him._

She went back to the desk and swept the incriminating evidence aside, pulling a fresh bit of parchment and a quill out. She opened her inkwell and began to write, but every word she wrote came out wrong. She had to send something Severus would understand and Voldemort wouldn't.

_What I need is a patronus._

A knock came at her door and she rushed over, hoping to maybe confront the king for more information, but a small foot wide hole appeared and a tray floated in. It was carrying a large salad with chicken breast and egg. Persephone pressed her face to the hole, but she only heard a man speak.

"Lunch is served!" The squeaky man lifted his hand and she called out.

"Wormtail! Wormtail!" He didn't reply and Hermione cut in rudely. "Peter!"

Silence met her ears and Persephone tried to change her angle at the hole to see more, but all she could see were the buttons on his waistcoat. Desperately, she pushed her hand through the hole. The buttons were worn and slippery, but she caught one and tugged.

"Is Severus in Germany?"

"Germany? Why would he be in Germany?"

So the king lied! That little-, Persephone yanked Hermione back on track. "No reason! I just thought I heard the king say it. Can you do something for me?"

"No!" He yelped and tried to take a step back, but she held on to the only leverage she had, which was sewn down very well. "The dark lo-king, he'll punish me for speaking to you."

"No, he won't! It's harmless, really. Just a letter to let Severus know I'm alright. Can you come get it at dinner?"

"I...I..."

"Please?" She softened her voice and closed her eyes. "I won't ask for anything else. Just, please!"

"I can't!" A metal hand closed over her own and she winced.

"If we were in love, wouldn't I/you/I want to know I was alright?" She crossed the fingers on her other hand and waited. It felt like ages, just listening to his breathing and enduring his strong metallic grip, but finally he sagged slightly.

"One letter?"

"Yes! Just one and I won't ask for anything else. I swear, Peter. Thank you." Slowly, she opened her hand and he paused before doing the same.

"The king says you'll get to visit the children soon. They'll bring books and you'll get to teach them." Wormtail said this as an aside and the hole in the door vanished as soon as her arm was back in the room.

* * *

Lavender was showing the new guy around the park and Slughorn kept pointing out plants of value as Neville led him around the same path. Dolores had decided to stay in for the day and Horace had been going stir-crazy anyway, so Neville offered a guided tour. The potions master leapt at the chance far faster than he had anticipated.

"And so, there were three of us in this cattle cart, chained and gagged, as I told you, and here comes that broken-jawed lout Mason. He says, quite loudly from a hovering broom, that we're destined for Zaschas, which we were then informed was a-"

"Snatcher jail, I know. We got forty people out of there Monday." Neville poked his toe at a toad and it hopped away. Trevor got lost at the school ages ago. He hadn't seen him since.

"How many living?" Slughorn didn't sound the least bit troubled by what he already knew, but his eyes were haunted.

"Ten." Neville had been well enough to lift bodies and dig graves. There just seemed to be so many.

"Did you mass them together? Mason would toss the whole lot in one hole and call it done." Slughorn shivered and Neville made himself remember the story of what came before all he was being told now.

Slughorn had been taken not long after Gryffindor had been disbanded. He had already resigned from the school by then and had moved into a house in the same neighborhood as Hermione's parents. He was safe for all of a month before the attacks started. Muggle killings hadn't happened in such magnitude since the First War. Slughorn had barely been able to get out of his house alive, but then he had been captured. He had been passed from hand to hand, group to group for months as they decided what to do with him.

Once, he had been taken to the Tavern, a depraved pub for the darkest of wizards, where fugitives or undesirables were put in hanging cages dotted over the open room. The rules were simple: anything but death. Horace had spent two weeks in that place. Not as long as a girl named Maggie, who was fifteen. She had been a popular target in the Tavern and had only been able to say thank you when spoken to. Horace had wept himself into silence as he recounted the story and Neville had taken him over to Dolores' for a nice cup of spiked tea. It took a couple days, but he had been able to resume his tale.

After he had been bought from the Tavern's resident Snatcher leader, he had been locked back in chains and given to Mason's old group, who liked to make their prisoners ply their trade until they couldn't and then sell them for a high price or kill them outright. Slughorn had been forced to craft healing potions and pepper-up, anything that Mason's group thought was useful or valuable. He had tried to sneak in poisons and so on, but they did a thorough check by selecting a single potion out of the thirteen and giving it to one of the worthless prisoners. If the potion was bad, the person would die and they would lock Horace up in solitary with the body for a week.

Neville had had to lope an arm around his old professor's shoulders and help him to a chair. Horace wouldn't look at a cauldron without shaking and transfiguring something into a completely different thing.

"Separate graves for separate souls." Neville pointed out a part of the garden they were just starting to cultivate. He planned to mention it until Slughorn offered to help till the earth and plants the seeds. Anything to get the man's mind off of the horrors he had experienced.

Lavender came by laughing, pointing out a sculpture and the fountain it sat upon. Wilbur, the new guy, with his brown hair and affable personality had the pink high in Lavender's cheek and a slight hop in her step. Neville wondered if that was a good thing, then had to berate himself for such dark thinking. Happiness in this horrible time should be cherished not questioned.

Neville chuckled to himself at the thought of explaining that to Ron.

* * *

With school resuming, Severus was busier than ever and the students were adding to his pile of disks, talking endlessly about the recruiting revel that was to take place the night after graduation. All those that wished to take the vows and the mark would be able to do so as soon as they were officially declared suitable by the ministry. He suspected many more boys like young Dorian from the Yule Ball preparations and many young women similar to Astoria Greengrass would come flocking to their ultimate doom. Time would tell.

His visits to the Nest had become more frequent and he spent a lot of time playing the go-between for Moody and his various outside allies, which now included Ariel Boudin. Severus' position as the King's right hand had made him look very tempting for all those still willing to fight the darkness. It was like the First War all over again.

It had been a week since he had spoken to Lily and a half dozen more days since he had laid eyes on Persephone. The Malfoys knew little, though Draco had begun dividing his time for the king and set aside a good chunk of his time for testing horcruxes. There wasn't much to do, but they did use Draco's constant lessons with the man to see if attacking one of his horcruxes would alert him. So far, there had been nothing, but Draco often spoke of the king's distracted state. Well, that and the mysterious lack of mudbloods while he was there. Wormtail was high strung and increasingly busy, his path from the kitchen to the dome above the ballroom used far too much and way off his normal routine. Draco hadn't yet been able to sneak into the room to find out what was happening.

Severus wondered..., but no, there was no way she let herself be captured. She should still be healing from her torture. The king hadn't allowed him to see her since she had been declared stable by the Healer on duty at the time and he couldn't run opposite to the king's demands. Not now, when the world was going to the dogs all around them and the wizarding world's war was just another bad thing in a list of them. He would speak with Draco when he got a chance. There had to be something they could do to ensure Hermione, or Persephone, was safe.

But what if she _was _hostage to the king? What if he had finally found them out? They had not planned for the occasion of being caught and though she had not revealed anything to Rodolphus that he could tell, the king was not his servant and Rodolphus was not the only man with an appetite for torture. He dreaded to think what horrors the king would use against the best friend of Harry Potter, a link to a past he would like better forgotten, a light in his never-ending dark.

The Carrows had begun what he feared they would when the takeover had been confirmed. Their classes were now divided between teaching the most select and bias bit of history and theory and having their students training for actual wizard-on-muggle combat, including but not limited to studies into the muggles weaknesses and habits as well as their effect on sympathetic wizard folk. It was like watching decades of human rights go down the drain. But it wasn't anything new.

Neither was the reinstatement of guards around the perimeter of Hogwarts. They had been designated _Defenders of the Realm _with all the pomp afforded the appointment of a relative round table of fallacy. They even had special robes and masks to denote their importance over the trees and the bowtruckles they paced beside. Their presence undermined his own control and was turning his school into a military run prison camp. They were installing new wards around the outside of the already established ones and making it impossible for anyone not marked to enter. When the school year ended, because they all knew this war would still be waging, they would open a small portal on the path out of the castle grounds and allow the children to pass.

The only saving grace was that the new ward was using the old as a base. Severus would put this knowledge to good use.

France and Boudin had declared themselves for the king and he had brought with him Spain and Canada. It appeared that the ruse of fellowship appeased the king and Severus was granted the task of tackling the rest of the world while his newly acquired silver tongue still possessed some trickery. Once the closing feast had been dealt with and the children loaded back onto the train, he was to try for Germany. After that, he guessed it would be another terrible chain of connecting Portkeys until he made his way to some other intelligent country where the gates were closed to men without noses.

His head was throbbing and he didn't feel up to making the trip to his stores. Severus gathered his research into horcruxes, which was buried beneath a mound of golden disks, and started instead for the fire. Burning low and steady, the flame gobbled up the parchment he fed into it and when he deemed it high enough, Severus cast Floo powder into it and spun his way to his manor.

* * *

Persephone had spent two weeks pacing around her dome prison, only being allowed out to meet with the children in a preordained room after having been escorted there by the same group of witches and wizards she had run from when she woke. She was also free to roam the grounds, under heavy guard or in the company of the king. She felt like a criminal.

Her robes weren't familiar and it was a curious shade of grey or in some cases a solid black. The room where she met the children had bars on the windows and a visible ward outside that. On the lower levels, where she could take off running out an open door if she had the nerve, there were Devil's Snares and even more wards. Sometimes, she wondered if the king left those doors open on purpose. Sometimes, she wondered what he would do if she chanced a breakout despite the traps. And every once in a while, like today, her other self decided to test those thoughts.

As Martis, who stared too much at one thing, (today being her lips), led her past the garden door with the filigree and vines, Persephone felt her other self burst through and suddenly she was running for the door. Shouts echoed behind her and she dodged a spell or two, then she passed through the threshold and leapt over the highest part of the Devil's Snare. Her landing was softer than she expected, but that was mostly because she had fallen on even more of the creeping plant. Prior experience had taught her to relax and she went limp in the plant's embrace. She sunk down to what she hoped was the ground, but instead she slipped through the vines and fell a few feet to hard stone.

Yaxley was waiting for her.

"Well, now we know you've at least got that much remembered. Hello, Hermione."

Persephone tried to back up, away from the open cell door and the obvious trap that was offered freedom, but she bumped into a thin red barrier. Yaxley laughed.

"Milord says you're to stay here for a day or two, to remind you of your place. On your knees, wasn't it?" He pointed to her position, kneeling on the stones and before she could stand, he had closed the door and walked away.

She waited three days after that to try again. This time, it was the bathroom across from the room where the children were reading about the Portrait of the Fat Lady. This was ground floor as well and she could see out of one of the small pipes to the grounds. Persephone waited until she was quick enough to filch a wand before she made that attempt.

First, she sent a patronus, which raised her spirits for all of a minute. Wormtail hadn't told her if her letter had made it to Severus or, indeed, if he had done what he had promised. Then, because there wasn't anything for it, she got to work.

The pipe had to be expanded to fit her body and she was fumbling because she had the offhand thought that the king might have wards detecting unauthorized magic, but she managed to slip into the small tunnel and begin a shimmy down. She got as far as the middle of the pipe before a long, hissing snake came crawling up the open end and, despite many spells, she was forced to backpedal to the bathroom on her hands and knees.

The king was waiting for her this time.

"Nagini, come." He said it in English, but there was a hissing undertone to it. The snake that chased her back up the pipe slithered to the king's feet. "Well done." It was obvious he wasn't talking to Persephone.

"Why are you keeping me here?"

"I've explained that and I do not plan on repeating myself. Haven't you a lesson to finish?" He turned to leave and she followed.

"You haven't given me the wand you promised!"

"Seeing what it is you mean to do with one," the king stared at her unblinking. The stolen wand was already sent back to its owner. "I believe you haven't earned one."

"_Earned_?! I don't have to earn the right to a wand. I was born with magic that entitles me to one."

"Lobbying for goblins as well as mudbloods? What else have you protested for? Squibs, blood-traitors," he smirked viciously. "House elves. Or maybe you just like taste of your own charity and goodwill."

"I'm not the half-blood hypocrite playing at immortality and purity. But maybe you like the taste of your own deformity and false sovereignty." Persephone bit her tongue when he backhanded her.

"I am your king." He said it so quietly she almost didn't hear and that scared her the most. Persephone simply closed her eyes against the undeniable force that was her other self...that was Hermione.

"You are no king! You're barely a Lord and even that is just a distorted mockery of your birth name and its backwards, cowardly owners. Tom Marvolo Riddle, indeed! You're a pathetic, wasted husk of a once promising wizard! You're what's left in the drain after you've rinsed off the dirt. And what are you but an insecure, racist, intolerant, fear-mongering, murdering, worthless _fraction _of a man?" She caught her breath, a sharp finger in his chest and made to say more but a long, thin arm shot out and she was against the wall in a second. He held her as he had in the library, but with both hands around her neck.

His head tilted as if he was curious and he leaned forward. "So much hatred in you, so much darkness, and you presume to lecture me on worth?" She felt the bones in his fingers as they pressed against her windpipe but he didn't cut off her airway completely. "Tell me, since you are so much more than I, what are _you _worth?"

Hermione fought his grip, but had no answer. The king sneered as he got closer. She could smell his breath which was both sour and sweet, decay covered up with potpourri.

"On the streets, Hermione Granger is worth a thousand Galleons. But that would be after the rape, the degradation, the weeks of lying in your own filth, the flood of Snatchers ready to rip you to pieces just to sell something. And maybe your empty _husk _would find its way to me and I would throw you in the dungeons. Or maybe I would send you to Cailen's Square and mount your head for the world to see. No, perhaps, I would tie your sorry corpse to the base of my throne so every single person under my rule would remember the Light and the way I snuffed it out."

"You won't scare me." Hermione gasped out and kicked out at him. The king bent with the blow and laughed.

"Oh, that wasn't my intention. You see, the most frightening thing is yourself, Miss Granger." He dropped her and she stayed on her bottom by the wall. "When the Light abandons you, when you begin to lose yourself and your meaning and they forget about you, you will seek out some purpose. You and your allies are nothing without a banner to wave, a protest to join your voices to. You wouldn't know what to do with yourself if you became unimportant."

"I am not unimportant." She whispered harshly, but that just drew more of the king's amusement.

"What are you without Potter? What are any of you without that old bearded fool? You were still being formed in your mother's womb when I was at the height of my power. You're nothing but a talentless, Hogwarts dropout, that failed to win a war and ran like the Mudblood you are when faced with my greatness. You trailed after those two idiots for so long you became one. Sneaking into my circle, using Severus as a cover for this persona. Why don't you take it off?"

Hermione wasn't crying, but her eyes burned. She glared at him as strongly as she could.

"You know nothing about me."

"Cease your play for time. Lower this glamour."

"I can't. Since you're such a powerful wizard, so great and so pure, why don't you remove it?" Persephone was struggling, but she managed to throw Hermione out of the way of another slap. She was holding back her tears with a clenched fist but that was all.

The king stepped back. "I expect you to be just Hermione Granger by month's end."

"Or what, you sick, soulless demon?" Hermione knew she was going to cross a line at some point and she had one of those reckless thoughts again. _What would happen if I_ _pushed him too far?_

"Or I start killing innocents."

The king was nice enough to open the door for her and the children welcomed her with open arms. They had read ahead since they had been taking turns and wanted to know what a giant squid did all day.

"Oh, and Hermione, don't ever think about writing Severus again." She didn't dare look back and she surely didn't cry.

* * *

"Took you long enough!"

Severus knew he was about a shout away from ripping someone's head off and yet he only managed to roll his eyes. The youngest Weasley had her hands on her hips and was pacing around the living room as if she were worried the Dark Lord was going come down his front walk.

"To what do I owe this unexpected visit?" He ignored the angry huff that followed his question and instead called for Uncto. The elf gave him a rather human look of consternation before winking out with orders to retrieve a migraine reliever.

"Where is she?" Thankfully the little Weasley had seen fit to lower her voice, albeit with an annoyingly concerned tone.

"Persephone?"

"Hermione. Moody won't say a word about it, but its not like Tom has been keeping it secret. Skeeter's reporting it all over the place, eyewitnesses range from the men patrolling the manor to a Healer named Sereda. Tom's got her, hasn't he? He's taken her."

How on earth have they heard already? He hadn't read the Prophet in months and now it seems everything is printed out in the same gaudy prose as the exploits of a teenage wizard. Severus gladly took a moment to find a seat and take the medicine Uncto brought before bringing himself to answer.

"I'm having someone look into it."

"Is that what you were going to tell me?" A new voice entered the fray and he didn't even bother standing up to quell the storm that began to rage.

"Malfoy!"

"Hello, Weaslette. How's the slums treating you?"

A resounding slap and Severus settling back in his recliner to let the events unfold as they may. The pain killer was still attempting to take effect.

"Don't you talk to me like old friends, you stuck-up trouser ferret!" There was a story there, but he was too damn tired to uncover it.

"Insults, really? I thought we'd moved past that level in our relationship."

"The only relationship I have with you is going to be my wand up your..."

"Don't even think of finishing that sentence. Keep your wand and its intentions away from rectum."

Uncto brought tea and a small canter of Firewhisky. Severus drank them both.

"Perhaps," he began gently, raising a newly refilled glass of his spiked tea. "We should get to the respective points of our being here."

The inquisitive uplifting of his voice caught the attention he desired and Draco moved away from the irate women with ease.

"I got a chance to see her today."

Severus drug himself out of his own darkness to sit up alertly. He offered Ginny a seat and she took it quickly.

"What did she say?"

Draco looked to Ginny with a serious stare. "I didn't get to speak with her as she's being escorted all over the manor and its grounds by either Dolohov and his new crew or the king himself."

"He knows something." Ginny's face collapsed into sorrow and she curled up on her seat. "Tom's going to hurt her when he finds out the whole truth."

"Tom?" Draco asked and at Ginny's sharp glare he nodded and did not bring it up again. "So, what's our next play? Do we try to destroy one and hope it doesn't tip him off?"

Severus turned in confusion when Ginny shot to her feet.

"Don't touch them! I'll ask..." She paused and he knew she was worried about revealing something so important. He wouldn't have jumped to say it either but he knew they could trust Draco. At his nod, she continued. "I'll ask Harry what he thinks. He had more time around them and Dumbledore. He'll know what to do."

"Tell that lazy, good-for-nothing to get off his arse, there's a war on."

Ginny left after hitting Draco hard in the back of the head.

"Well," Draco gave a small smirk. "That went better than I thought it would when I realized she was here."

"You could have stayed back."

"And I could have hoped another opportunity would have presented itself during wartime. I thought, what the hell?"

"Bit of a gamble."

"So's backing the Light in a battle with our dear and darling sovereign, but guess who has thrown in his lot with the glowing example of society's saints?" Severus gave him a flat look and Draco shrugged. "Got any more in that cup?"

* * *

He sat at his throne in the empty ballroom, staring off into the nothing. It had been years since he had been so sorely tempted to give in to his endless anger. Persephone, the shadow that was, had been suspicious from the start and he had allowed himself to be fooled by her. Yaxley had brought his attention to the holes in her backstory, the loose ends and goose chases Rodolphus has been through trying to find proof of her. The ministry records of her were falsified after a certain year but that was only found out recently, after a thorough search and verification. Aside from the pale skin and emerald eyes, she was exactly the same as Hermione Granger.

His inattentiveness to Potter's friends had opened him up for this infiltration. Just as he was nearly killed by some lackwit, he had been poised above a knife's edge while Hermione Granger was moving about his court giving him...advice. That little upstart brat from years ago that had nearly been trampled by a troll, that had fought against his Death Eaters in the Ministry and had stood by the boy despite all the obvious reasons to abandon him.

He had seen a million memories in the boy's mind, had lived through him for almost a year, watching the days roll by. He knew more about Harry Potter than even his friends and yet he had been unable to foresee the coming of the Light after so many years in silence. For nearly five years they had kept their own council, holed up wherever they were beneath his kingdom, and they had grown. They had risen like the fabled Phoenix and now he faced a third war, the final one. He would not fight another after this, for he would be the victor and that would be the end of the Light's attempts at remaining alive.

Voldemort left his shining throne and made his way up, past the closet for cloaks and coats, and into the open sitting room before the stairs. Wormtail was already there.

Wormtail had set a tray on the small table before the stairs that led to the room above the ballroom. He was fiddling with the books beneath his arm and cursing his sweaty palms as Voldemort stepped up behind him.

"What part about a schedule do you not comprehend?"

Wormtail leapt into the air with a squeak and spun around. "My lord! I was just bringing Miss Damasca..."

"Miss Granger. You should know her. Did she not own that half-Kneazle you complained endlessly about?"

"My lord," he swallowed, loudly. "What will you do with her?"

A vicious sort of humor came over Voldemort and he chuckled. "Did you want her? I'm sure she will debase herself for you if you promise to send another letter for her."

The round face before him turned beet red and Wormtail backed up a step.

"No, my lord. Were you...?" He didn't appear able to finish that sentence.

"Leave me."

"Yes, milord." Wormtail said and nodded as he scurried away. His metal hand glimmered in the low light.

Hermione Granger was sitting at the window when he opened the door and she didn't even look back when he set the tray of food on the nearest table. King Voldemort would not be ignored. One flick of his wrist and her golden necklace tightened around her throat. She fell back with a crash, taking what little she had piled around her. An inkwell spilled black onto the carpet. He released her and almost immediately she went about cleaning up the mess.

"Could you wait until I've _finished _my work before you destroy it?" She barely glanced at him and he resented the fact that she still had the ability to treat him as someone lesser.

"What work could you possibly be doing that is not better forgotten?"

Her face lost all hints of expression and she gazed up at him, in her muggle clothing, like a furious queen.

"I'm teaching children who haven't learned anything but the basics of magic, if that, with a total of ten books, six quills, five inkwells, and a truckload of patience. Not only that, but I don't wish to let my mind atrophy because I'm surrounded by people who have, so I am working on a separate project. And that separate project can't be truly completed because I don't have access to your library, which I might add, would make teaching the children much easier. And to top that all off, I've got Dolohov and his men wrapped around my neck, if there is space there beside this collar." She flicked her gold necklace and stacked her books according to titles. "Crucio me if you like, I've spoken out of turn."

Voldemort smirked, amused by this new act of indifference. It would fail her as everything else would fail her. He would delight in her gradual decline into madness.

"Would you like free reign of the library?" He asked calmly.

Surprise overtook her face and she paused. "Are you kidding?"

"I do not kid. This offer expires in five seconds."

"Yes!" She scrambled to her feet. "I want the library."

"Good. Follow me." He spun on his heel and led the way out of the room. His manor was very active, with the war in a very official status, and his Death Eaters gave him strict bows as they pored over reports and talked tactics. Hermione followed close behind him, probably in fear of his servants, and he could feel her both wanting to grab his robes and abhorring the thought of doing so. He chuckled.

Voldemort worked his way to the lower levels, the ones built deep into the landscape, where he had made living quarters for the children. The eldest were milling about, but they either bowed or made themselves scarce at his arrival. Hermione slowed down, relaxed, and greeted each and every one. It took another twenty minutes to get to the common room where the children would gather for meals. Vanessa was among those huddled around the tables. She jumped up with a smile and was in Hermione's arms before he could address them.

"One of you is going to Varribaltë with myself and your dear mother. Who shall it be?" The children shrank back visibly and he relished in the fear his creation inspired. "No volunteers?"

"What is Varribaltë?" Hermione asked and Vanessa took off.

"I had to put their parents somewhere. Why not where they belong?"

Hermione's face changed again, but this time she balked, pale and sick, and stumbled backwards. He couldn't wait until she actually witnessed this invention.

"If one of you does not step forward, I will take the youngest." Voldemort let the threat sink in before a little boy came a step nearer. He was shoved backwards by an elder sister who bowed at the sovereign's feet.

"I will go, sir."

"Your name?" The girl looked about in confusion at the question. She was old enough to realize that he did not care.

"Marianne, sir."

"Well, Marianne, let us go." Hermione rushed to keep up and Marianne took her hand. He could hear them whispering and there was more fear in their voices as they wondered what he could possibly want.

_All in good time._

It had been far too long since he had paid a visit to Varribaltë and since he was going through with thorough checks of every department, he might as well check on the mudblood housing facility. It had been created months ago as a place to funnel all those of magical status, or simply of relation to those of magical status, that had not been cleared by the Hall of Records as having a line of pureblood in their family. Wands were taken, logged and stored if they were not broken. Rooms had been created to hold the offenders and each room was warded against unauthorized magic, as well as rigged to release a poisonous gas should the resident feel the need to be silenced. Everyone who entered was marked with the symbol of his rule and ownership, which was always bared to the eyes of anyone who would look. The children had such a mark, but he doubted Hermione had seen them.

No matter, she would have her own mark soon, and then there would be no question to whom she belonged.

* * *

A/N: I got blocked like you would not believe, so I just took a break and watched some movies, read a book and came back when my mind wasn't clogged to all hell. Apologies for the wait, but I attempted to make this one long to compensate. I think it got muddled in the middle but...meh, I'm going crazy knowing this isn't posted. Hope you enjoyed it and please review. Tickle2Kill.


	39. No Light, No Light

~*~No Light, No Light~*~

He had spent hours with the lovely Miss Brown, and he had spent even more eavesdropping on her conversations with the Head Auror. There had been news a day or so ago that had given him his first real lead in the task appointed to him by the king. He sent a patronus, like he had seen the other members of the light do, and he received a response through a shipment of stolen goods.

_Execute the source_.

Wilbur had killed before, many times in fact. When the king had taken over it had been pretty much dog eat dog in the crime world and the fittest survived. Or, more accurately, the quickest to backstab survived. But Goldie wouldn't approve of falling back into his old ways. She had found him and raised him from the darkness and given him a purpose again. He couldn't kill an innocent for that madman of a sovereign. He couldn't...but the king had Goldie. His wife, his love, the only real Light left in the world and the darkest demon held her securely in his clutch.

Wilbur would do whatever he had to do to get her back.

* * *

The otter that swam between Severus and Draco was frantic and in a rush. They barely had time to register it was there before it began to relay its message.

"Dome room, lake-view, wand-less and...two minds. The serpent has leashed me, Hades. He knows. As the month dies, he will kill. Break the mask." With a twist, the otter vanished.

"Hades?" Draco asked, confused.

"It was meant to be code. He knows who she is or he knows about us?"

"He knows about her. I figured it out after a long enough time, even pale and green-eyed she was Granger on a good day. You can only change a person so much while leaving something behind."

Severus had told Draco about the entire situation and it had alleviated some of the tension and burning questions. And he couldn't say it didn't make things easier.

"How come I feel like I've said this a million times?" Draco muttered, then forged ahead. "What do we do now?"

"Well, if he knows, then it stands to reason he might have had help coming to that conclusion."

"Short of interrogating half the court, how are we to find out who?"

Severus gave that some thought. Hermione, or at least her persona, did not possess that many enemies in court, but there was always Rodolphus, his wife Bellatrix and his brother Rabastan. Two were in Azkaban serving disciplinary time in the same cells they had occupied all that time ago. The third was in Order custody and well without the ability to reveal pertinent information.

But that was just the top of the dog heap. There was still Yaxley, Alecto and her brother Amycus, and any other lowlife capable of thought that sided themselves with Rodolphus. There were only a few avenues that could have been left open for their enemies to travel.

There was something being overheard from either himself or Hermione, but word alone would not verify identity. There was also the off-chance that Hermione had broken through her mind prison and was revealed through the king's constant Legilimens scans of the people around him. Then, again, there was the very beginning of their meeting, when he and Rodolphus had bargained over custody of the thief. What if the man had gotten a better reading of Hermione than they anticipated and finally linked her to Persephone from familiarity? Rodolphus was very perceptive and when he found a kernel of truth, he followed it until the bitter end. What could have sparked his sudden surety of Hermione's disguise?

Severus left Draco unceremoniously and made his way to the lower study, the only place he still had anything of Hermione's. In a drawer, barely used, there was a small bag with a broken wand and a cryptic letter. Or at least there should be.

He did the expected magic, testing for spells and triggering falsehoods to show themselves. Only one thing stood out. With a desperate hope that his magic was wrong, Severus removed the contents of the drawer and scanned it again. The broken wand was a replica.

"Find anything?" Draco called and Severus turned, slow and serious as he processed this new element.

"Does the king still have Ollivander in custody?"

"Yes. Why...?" Draco came around, frowning and saw the bag where it lay half open, the splintered wand visible. "Is that hers?"

Severus shook his head. "It is a mockery of her wand, just as this world is a mockery of a world. And planted here by a dark wizard."

"Who could have...?" A light flickered into Draco's eyes. "Rodolphus was here the night of the Christmas party. Persephone told Astoria about catching him in a study. Did he take the real one and give it to the king?"

"Why wait? Why wait until the new year to reveal her? What is there to gain by waiting?" His mind was working hard and, though this was an inappropriate time to go about relishing in a challenge, he delighted in the chance to be productive mentally. If Hogwarts and McGonagall survived, he was going to hand her the Headmistress title on a platter. He had never felt so stymied in his life.

"Maybe Rodolphus didn't take it straight to him. He kidnapped Granger and tortured her for information, he probably didn't want the king to rob him of the chance. Did you find anything when you raided his manor?"

"Aside from pathetic guards and..." He had seen tortured bodies, some far worse than she had been, but it still haunted him that he had been lax enough to let it happen. "And Hermione, no."

Draco began to speak, but Severus cut him off. "There was a message on the wall in Rodolphus' study and a vial of blood."

"Was he testing it? You can't test for dirty blood, the king has tried."

"Not for dirty blood." Severus let out a frustrated sigh. "Oberan or Philip gave Rodolphus his blood to send him on a false trail. He must have kept enough to test against Hermione's."

"So he showed the blood to the king."

"No, I destroyed the vial and the message."

"How did he find out?" Draco was pacing and it annoyed Severus to no end. "You keep closing all the avenues but you haven't offered one yet."

"Yaxley. He was the closest one to Rodolphus throughout this masquerade. He stepped forward and endured the king's wrath to speak out against me. He made trips to my school to tempt the Carrows to their side. He was the one who sent the letter asking to meet Hermione at Gabian's. Perhaps he is the answer." He did not need to guess, because he knew. Draco wasted no time leaving the study.

"Let's get our little henchman, then!" He called over his shoulder as he vanished around the corner.

* * *

Miss Brown liked to laugh at his jokes and she linked an arm around his own as they walked. She favored the garden with the pretty fountain and called him 'Willie' like his mum used to. She always smelled of apple cider and sage, kept a chain of talismans around her neck and claimed to be able to show him his future in his palm. Her hair was honey blonde and goldenrod and pale wheat; she wore it up in buns and twists and plaits.

One day, almost three weeks since he had come, she gathered up herbs from a bright section of the garden and made him a sweet smelling tea. He felt woozy and content and lounged on her grass carpet for hours. A man named Ron came by often and once or twice they spoke at length about the loves of their lives. Ron would blush at Miss Brown, and she at him and Wilbur would smile.

Each morning in the refuge was like a dream he didn't believe, and all too many times he had caught himself forgetting his duty. But Miss Brown would smile at Ron in the way that Goldie smiled at him and Wilbur would be in an awful mood for the remainder of the morning. His mission was clear and he understood, but there was only so much he could be ordered to do. Even for Goldie.

On that Wednesday, Miss Brown baked him a cake.

* * *

Varribaltë was inside an ancient church, below the headstones that bore the names of kings and queens and saints. Hermione took the reigns again as Persephone settled back, content to ignore the fear growing in them both. Marianne held fast to her hand and she didn't let go. The stairs leading down were familiar in that way foreign places sometimes are. Her feet were sure in contrast to her heart, finding steps were there appeared to be none in the darkness. The king did not provide a light. They walked together further down the tunnel, until the church became a pinprick of light miles above them.

Marianne stumbled and fell, but still they kept on and the girl was forced to catch up. Whenever Hermione slowed, the necklace would tighten around her neck. Soon, she was gripping a small handful of the king's soft robes and he chuckled in the dark.

With a hiss, he waved his hand and the darkness became a corridor which opened up into a large circular room. Pillars held the ceiling up and wizards were posted by each archway that led off into the earth. There was a sudden movement as Voldemort stepped into the light and the guards bowed.

One stepped forward and Hermione stopped short.

"Ah, Dolohov. Glad to be back home, I take it?"

"Yes, your Grace. We are all pleased to be reassigned to re-educate the heathens." Dolohov bowed deeper and the guards behind him chorused in agreement.

"Do you have your branding tools?"

"Always." He retrieved something from his belt that looked like a bundle of metal rods. "Will I have another to mark?"

"Yes, but for now I want you to fetch the cleanest uniform you have for a female her size and bring it to me. I will make the necessary adjustments." Voldemort's vague gesture at her was insulting but she knew now was not the time to act. When Dolohov left, a woman stepped forward.

"May I assist you, your Grace?"

"Fauna, wasn't it?"

"Yes, your Grace." The awe on the woman's face made her sick. No one should be happy to be known by this madman.

"Bring the women."

A deep bow, almost nose to the floor and Fauna set off at a quick walk, her blue robes flaring behind her. The rest of the guards were dismissed with the flick of a hand and Voldemort spun to look at them.

"You will learn such obedience, soon."

"I doubt it." Hermione replied sharply. Marianne drew behind her.

"Then I shall make a believer out of you."

* * *

Fenrir Greyback was found some ways down from the local animal clinic in a muggle neighborhood inside Auror jurisdiction in Surrey. He was dazed and confused, muttering about the grass between his toes. He wouldn't answer to his name and barely recognized the men he had dealt with for years. The Healers at St Mungos rushed him to the fourth floor without pause, and there he remained until Yaxley made his way there from the king's manor.

The war was taking a turn for the bloody and the small contingents that had been meeting in fields were growing into infantry divisions bent on cutting the throat of the other. The uncomfortable truth being that, since the open hostility had begun, the light had met each wand that had been sent out against them in equal force, not once stumbling or showing a sign of fear. They had wolves, purebloods, mudbloods, half-bloods, all joined in a fellowship of man against atrocity. It would be inspiring if he wasn't losing sleep at alarming speeds trying to stop them.

Yaxley announced himself like his own personal herald and had to wait five minutes awkwardly as the trainee got clearance from his superior to lead a guest to the locked portion of the fourth floor. Miriam Strout gave him a rough pat when he was finally inside the Janus Thickey Ward, cupping a wrinkled hand around his elbow.

"You came to visit Mister Greyback, I take it?"

"Is he conscious?"

"You could call it that. What do you want with him?"

"He might have important information for the king."

"Well, unless the king is trying to become a specialized healer dealing in memory loss, he's not going to learn much."

"Is he that far gone?"

"Whoever Obliviated him was well-versed in the art. The only thing left to him is his natural bodily functions and a profound sense of smell. He doesn't communicate beyond a grunt or blink and his howling kept the others up last night."

"Has he been declared terminal?"

"Officially and unofficially, and everything in between." Strout brandished her wand and tapped a small pattern on the door they had stopped before. "You may have ten minutes with him. If he howls, I'll box your ears."

Strout left before he could remind her of his rank. He felt very uncomfortable with that fact that he might have had to. The room where Greyback was going to spend the rest of his life was very clinical and to the point, with a soft bed and cushy chairs, lights too high to jump to and windows with a view of a false forest. The man was running in circles in the space between his closet and his bed, growling at himself. Yaxley realized with both humor and horror, that he was chasing his tail.

"Greyback." He called out sharply as one soldier to another. The spinning came to an abrupt end and a thud when Greyback stumbled into the closet doors. A grunt later, Greyback was rushing over to him, sniffing him curiously like a dog would a new guest. It was unsettling to put up with as the man was still in human form. Yaxley relaxed as best he could, waiting out the very intrusive sniffing and prodding.

When Greyback was satisfied he wasn't a threat, he crouched down and sat on his heels, wide eyes staring patiently up at Yaxley.

"Fenrir, do you remember anything?"

He barked once and shifted, intently watching him as though he had food in his pockets.

"Did the Light give you a message for us?" Another short bark and Yaxley frowned. "Did Moody give you anything?"

Fenrir barked many times and bounded awkwardly on all fours to the drawers on his bedside dresser. From within he retrieved a sealed letter. He handed it to Yaxley with his mouth and sat obediently when asked. Yaxley glanced over the folded parchment with its red seal of a phoenix in flight and pulled his wand to test for any type of magic. As he raised his wand to cast the spell, Greyback lurched backwards and began howling. He sheathed his wand hurriedly, but the damage had been done.

Strout and six healers ran in and two of them shoved him into the arms of a burly man waiting outside the room. The old healer came back after a second and smacked his head.

"I warned you." She muttered in response to his cry of shock and vanished back into the room. Yaxley was then escorted out of the hospital like a naughty child. He was seconds away from hexing every single person who crossed his path by the time he was able to get back to the king's manor.

"Marcus says you were spanked by Strout! Did you steal her tea cosy?" Nott called out to him and he wondered, not for the first time, how news could travel so fast.

"How would you know she spanks? Did you steal her tea cosy, too?" He quipped and hurried away before the riotous laughter could turn into an impromptu duel.

The halls of the king's manor were wildly active and he couldn't step two feet without being bumped into by a sprinting wizard with a new report on attacks to supply convoys, lesser strongholds, and bases of information. It seemed the Light was planning on removing every tendril they had until the main body was all they would have to face. They needed to throw a wrench in their plans before it began to work.

Getting to the king nowadays was hard and only because he had helped with the Granger situation was he allowed near immediate access, but today it proved futile. Wormtail stopped Yaxley at the doors to the king's side of the manor and held up his silver hand.

"The king is away. Any requests will have to wait for his return."

"Any idea when that will be, rat?" Yaxley's patience was wearing very thin.

"When the king wishes to return, you will know. Until then." Wormtail was smart enough to retreat, entering the king's wing and audibly locking the door behind him.

"Can't meet with him, either?" A voice said from his immediate left and he pretended quite well that he knew they were there all along.

"What do you need the king for, Malfoy?" Lucius' son was a favorite of the king's and was known to be privy to the king's whereabouts on almost any occasion. The confidence placed in such unworthy followers made Yaxley sick.

"That's classified, high above your pay grade, etcetera, etcetera. But I do know something I could tell you." The youngest Malfoy eyed him conspiratorially and he frowned.

"What do you know?"

"I know the truth behind Snape's plan. He has connections with..." A light was glowing in Malfoy's grey eyes and he put a finger to his lips. "Not in the hallway. Come with me."

Yaxley knew this was going to end badly but he hadn't learned to heed those acid reflux warnings, this bout being attributed to the spicy chicken dish he had eaten at lunch, and followed Draco Malfoy into an empty room. The world went black before he could remember why coming into dark rooms with rivals was a no-no.

* * *

Fauna had assembled the women in the largest circular room and had them kneel in crowded but neat rows. Each one had had their hair shorn off and were in what appeared to be regulation clothing. Loose black pants and long sleeved shirts, with the right sleeve missing. On the arms that were bared, blazing across the space just below the shoulder, were intricately designed brands. Each one was the same and very artistic, except of course for the fact that they had been carved into the flesh and healed so many countless times that the mark was formed by scar tissue. The mark was a prominent letter V with a wand through the center, creating an almost pitchfork shape. They were all wearing golden collars much like the one Hermione was wearing.

Voldemort smirked.

"You have a guest, my dear mudbloods. Hermione Granger, friend and ally to Harry Potter." Heads shot up and what seemed like a million eyes focused on her. Some were hopeful, others cautious, but the majority was accusatory. "Miss Granger is going to be branded today. In celebration, I will end the lives of another family. Missus Cattermole?"

The women huddled closer and one with dark hair and eyes bowed her head so that her chin was on her chest. Fauna moved to that one. Voldemort raised his hand and Fauna paused.

"But we didn't bring Maisie, Ellie or Alfred. Worry not. Missus Schwartz?" Another woman bowed her head and Marianne took a small step forward, only to stop herself. Voldemort looked pleased about it all. "Bring her, Fauna."

Mrs Schwartz was dragged to the steps before Voldemort and pressed to her knees again. Her mark was still an angry red. Fauna stood proud and met Voldemort's eyes in elation.

"Shall I retrieve her husband, milord?" A nod and she was gone down another hall.

Marianne took another step and paused yet again. Voldemort turned to her. "A whole year and you don't even greet your mother? Selfish child."

Hermione and Persephone warred for a moment but Hermione won. With a slow pace, she led Marianne to her mother and helped the woman to her feet.

"Mum!" The girl whispered, wrapping her arms around her mother. "Mum, it'll be alright. Miss Persephone will get us out. Won't you?"

Hermione tried to nod or agree or show some kind of sign that she had a plan for this moment, but she didn't. Mrs Schwartz gave a small understanding nod and stole her daughter's attention. They were able to talk for only a few minutes because when Fauna returned they were jolted apart by magic.

"Denise!" The newcomer said urgently. "Mari!"

"Daddy!"

Hermione moved instinctively as Voldemort stepped forward. Her hands found his chest and she was a foot from him. He was so tall she had to look up and she felt so desperate her heart hurt.

"Whatever this is, whatever you're planning, stop. Stop taking it out on them, on other people. I did wrong, I spoke out of turn, I am the guilty one. Not them. Please, please don't do this." She knew she was crying and begging, but it didn't seem to matter anymore. Pride was an outdated notion.

"What would you have me do?"

"Punish me. Don't hurt anyone else because of me. If you want to hurt someone, let it be me."

He leaned forward until his head was in line with hers and whispered. "How will you ever learn from pain you welcome? There shall be no pleasure for you, no comfort and no immunity. You've withstood the fall of nations, you can learn to embrace the blood I spill in your name. Queen of Mudbloods, remember?" He retreated enough to meet her eyes with his deep crimson. "I shall make a sacrifice for your coronation and you will watch as your people suffer for your rebellious nature. Starting with the Schwartz family and ending when you learn your place."

Dolohov returned, carrying the clothing asked for. It was black like the others and had only one sleeve. As Voldemort put space between them, Dolohov cast a single spell and her clothing fell to the floor. Hermione felt the cold air and covered herself, taking the proffered clothing quickly. She dressed as fast and as discreetly as she could, avoiding the eyes of the women assembled. When she was presentable, Voldemort gestured to Dolohov.

"When your mark is complete, I will give you your gift. Try not to scream."

* * *

The world was a marching band armed with daggers when Yaxley returned to it. The dull ache in the back of his head forced him to the conclusion that he had been struck with a very heavy and very blunt object. A sort of indignant pride flared up at such treatment.

"The least you could have done was hex me." He said out loud and a chuckle answered. A thick blindfold blocked his vision.

"I made sure the ground was nice and soft for your face." That was clearly Draco Malfoy and the owner of the chuckle.

"Draco." Said a much quieter voice, but deep and steady. It held a tone of reprimand. Yaxley was positive his luck couldn't be that bad.

"Your pride wasn't the only thing attacked by this cretin. My father's went long before."

"Shelf your retribution until we have our answers." This curt response brought a chuckle to Yaxley's own throat.

"Says the man who tried to strangle me while I gave a report to the king."

"You did that?"

"Yes." And just like that, accompanied by Draco's low whistle, the topic was discarded. "Who has Hermione's wand?"

"Are you really that stupid?" Yaxley shifted back into the seat they had him tied to and relaxed. "Anything you say to me shall be repeated to the king."

"Do not underestimate the Light, Yaxley. Fenrir should have been found by now. Do you really believe there would be no consequence for serving the king?"

Though suitably frightened by the prospect of having his memories erased and being nothing more than an animate vegetable, Yaxley pressed what leverage he had.

"The consequences are far worse for those who betray the king."

"I shall take that into account. Now, answer my question."

"The king has her wand as he will have yours. And soon, he will have both your heads." A swift kick came from the left and a breathless moment followed as Yaxley attempted to find the air that had been so plentiful before.

"Explain, and do not fall into the traps of your sarcastic tongue or I shall relieve you of the burden." A wand pressed hard into the corner of his mouth ensured the truth.

"If she doesn't remove the glamor by month's end, he will kill her. Each day she delays, another shall die in her place. Are you so sure you want to go down this road, Slayer? The last girl you loved so much died at the king's hands. Care to repeat history?"

He felt a gloved hand on his jaw and the stir of magic in the air. Since he knew from experience that Snape did not lie about punishment, he was rather furious with himself when the last word out of his mouth before he lost his tongue was 'bollocks'.

* * *

After the first cut led to a bloody nose for Dolohov, they had used magic to hold her still. Standing straight, with her legs together and her left arm bent at the small of her back, she appeared to be not only tolerant but welcoming of this torture. Her right arm was limp at her side and Dolohov was running his line knife over a certain section lightly before healing the wound with Dittany. The base for the large two-inch V was complete and he had begun to add almost frilly designs to complement the letter. The bundle that held his tools was open flat beside him and each tools was covered in her blood.

The king had left for business but ensured he would return for the celebration of her mark. Apparently, it could take up to three hours for Dolohov to complete a mark to his own satisfaction. The violence and level of detail pleased the king.

Hermione had control for a long while but the pain had loosened her hold and Persephone had resurfaced. The tough exterior fell away and she could hear weakness in her pleading.

"You don't have to do this." She wept and the darkest of eyes left the open wound on her shoulder to meet her own.

"No, but I want to. It has been too long since I have spilled the blood."

"Don't talk to her, Dolohov." Fauna muttered and spat at the kneeling women.

Another cut, but more deeply and Persephone gasped. "Do not speak while I work, Fauna!"

"I'll do what I like."

"I outrank you. Do you need a mark to remind you?"

Fauna lifted her sleeve with the tip of her wand. The dark mark was smooth across her dark skin. "I already have one."

"This mark would be where you could not hide it. Now, be silent or I shall cut a map into your face." A thicker blade appeared as the thinner one vanished and the large V was reopened. The pain burned and she could practically feel it hit bone. Her attempts to break free were useless. She was still as stone.

"Please, Dolohov." She begged and Hermione almost retched at the sound.

"I apologize for my roughness earlier. Fauna brings out the worst in everyone."

"I do not!" Fauna argued.

A sharp blade, glistening with her blood was raised and Fauna closed her mouth. As Dolohov resumed his artwork, Persephone felt herself fall into a sort of trance. Hermione was repeating a thought. My mind is an ocean, too deep for them to tread. She didn't know how much time had passed before a cold voice echoed through the silent tranquility and brought with it the pain of fire in her shoulder and trailing down her elbow.

"It seems I didn't come soon enough." Dolohov scrambled away after cleansing her skin and Voldemort took his place. He took in his follower's handiwork, eying the intricate patterns and the depth of the wound. When he was pleased, he turned to look her in the eye. "Now, we celebrate."

* * *

The sun in the refuge beat down on Wilbur's shoulders and he felt the weight of his plan on his soul. Miss Brown had made him sugar cookies and one of her soothing teas and they had begun their walk to the fountain he had come to love. She was bright and smiling beside him, her curly golden hair in a pretty halo around her head. She wore white today with a blue belt and cute blue sandals. Her toes were painted pink. He could smell apricot on her skin and her smile glowed pearly white.

Across the way a tall man with curious black marks over his skin walked with a short redhead who wore nurses robes in lime green. Wilbur knew he was not going to leave this place and if Goldie was not waiting for him on the other side, he did not want to leave. But he had to be sure he did all he could for his wife. The fountain was in front of them and Miss Brown moved a little faster so she could run her gentle hands through the cool water. Wilbur took a deep breath, found his wand with fumbling fingers and waited until Miss Brown had turned to see why he was taking so long.

"I'm sorry." He whispered to her and sighed. "_Avada Kedavra!_"

Once again, green light left his wand and he was tackled to the ground. But no one saved the person on the other end this time and Wilbur thought to himself, what makes a pale king more worthy of life than a golden wretch?

The taste of sugar was still on his lips.

* * *

Marianne, Denise and Maxwell lay broken on the floor, huddled together like leftovers on a plate. Hermione was sobbing, reaching, unable to bridge the small gap between them. Unable to revive them from the dead. Voldemort crouched in front of her and bent his head until she would meet his eyes. Every move was calculated and precise, smooth and deliberate like a serpent.

"Now do you believe?"

"Why?" She gasped, her muscles complaining at the strain of her resistance. "Why are you doing this?"

An almost apologetic look overcame his pale face and he laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Some lessons must be taught with the wand and not the word. You and your kind are filthy, greedy, presumptuous and parasitic. You bite into the very well of my ancestors and you partake in something you don't understand. My magic and the magic your dirty blood carries are not the same. I am pure, clean and prosperous and you are not. Why then, after all I have done and everyone I've killed, does your kind persist in life? Death should hound your footsteps. Death should be your shadow from the moment you draw breath and yet you live. Tell me, Hermione Granger, why is that?"

"I don't know." She whispered, but really she did, at least a little.

"Oh, come now."

"I don't know!" She pulled against the force of the spell and felt it give almost an inch. "I don't live my life asking why it isn't over. I don't ask Death why he hasn't taken me. When the time comes, as it will for us all, I won't have a choice. So I don't dwell on the end because I am more than my mortality. My life holds far more meaning than the time of my demise."

"You do not fear death?" He asked, narrowing his eyes as though he were putting pieces together.

"I'm not a fool. Fear of death is healthy. It keeps us from taking life for granted. I don't want to die, none of us do, but we will and I don't want to spend my life wondering when it will happen. But death is always terrifying."

"Yet you cast yourself upon the swords of others to save your friends and random strangers. If you fear death, why do you find it so simple to defy it?"

"You think courage is simple? You think facing a troll, a Cerberus, a dragon, professors, ministers, Death Eaters, exams, love...you think facing life is simple? It is the hardest part about being human, being mortal. You have to wake up every day and breathe through lungs that can deteriorate over time and find your way through your day with the knowledge that every decision you make is important because you only live this life once. Nothing in this life is as frightening as being mortal, temporary and fleeting."

"Magic allows me to live forever. I do not fear death and its poison and thievery. I will remain here while you wither away and nothing will take this life from me. I will never diminish or falter, I will expand and absorb. I will make this earth tremble at my very name. I will part the masses from their delusions of perfection and I will lead them to the truth. They will worship at my feet for I will be a god. I am invincible."

"You are without courage, without love, without companionship, without sympathy or mercy. You are already dead." Voldemort rose and sighed.

"I know you will face my wand with stubbornness and strength, because your life has always been forfeit if it meant Potter could live. I admire your determination, even if it is misplaced. But I will make you see I am right in this. I will convince you of my power and I will break your soul into pieces before I set you at the Light's doorstep. But first," he released the spell and she was free to move. "First I will empty your eyes of any light it dare hold. One innocent at a time. I will find the one you love the most out of your subjects, my Mudblood Queen, and then I will put them to death. You will martyr yourself for them and I will extract your very essence as I should have done to Lily."

"It won't work."

"Oh, I'm sure it will. Old magic is the deepest and most powerful to wield. Lily's selfless act showed me the flaw in my plans and I will not repeat those mistakes. Now, rise or I will add another body to the pile."

Hermione didn't feel it well up, didn't even know what she was doing until she was doing it, but she lunged at Voldemort and let her muggle defense training kick in. She punched and scratched, kicking at his body when she could and he seemed surprised at her outburst because she managed to draw blood. His knees buckled and for a glorious moment she was pummeling his serpentine face as he tumbled to the ground.

Hands gripped her roughly and she was midair before she could come down from her anger.

"I will watch you burn before I breathe my last. I will know I caused your end. The light condemn you!"

Voldemort was standing and he raised his wand to curse her more literally than her own words, but a brightness bounded into the room and stood between them. It was a bison, grey and silver, standing like a shield in front of her. It gazed into her eyes solidly and she gazed back.

The bison stomped aggressively, but did not appear as though it would attack, instead it spoke. "_Bilius._"

It was sudden, like static shock, and it ran lightning quick through her body. Hermione jerked forward and hit the ground, her mind a flood of images and thoughts and feelings. It hurt to have so much coming back so quickly and all at once Persephone ceased to be. The jarring effect kept her from responding to the king's inquiry as to what she thought she was doing. The king...no, his name was Voldemort. She was writhing on the floor with Lord Voldemort hovering above her.

Fear, like she'd felt ages ago it seemed, took over her body, properly overwhelming in the presence of a man that had done so much evil, as her mind ebbed to a dull crush of memories that were startling in their disjointed state. She didn't know whether she had done them or if some other person had. Was it her dancing with the king and kissing Snape? Was she the woman leaning into Lestrange's hand or was that some other person? Her head throbbed and she pulled herself to her knees, trying to do anything but lay flat on the floor with the Dark Lord above her, but she was too weak. She slumped forward and, as she made to catch her breath, fell completely into darkness.

* * *

**A/N:** My dear and darling Moina was able to look over this one. She will also be helping me with the huge undertaking I will be moving on to once I have finished this story and I hope to see you all there as well. Apologies for the angst and, yes, there is more to come, but the final battle is as well. Thank all who have reviewed and favorited and alerted. It means the world to me and makes my day brighter. To answer an oft spoken question, I have no clue why this isn't more reviewed than it is. But I have you glorious few and I will let that be enough. If you don't believe so, drop a line for me in that little box. Off to write the next chapter, Tickle2Kill.


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